


Mister Negan?

by lessthanpurefandom



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Carl is 16 at the start of the fic, F/M, M/M, This is very slow burn, maybe? - Freeform, not 14, slight under-age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:12:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8857468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lessthanpurefandom/pseuds/lessthanpurefandom
Summary: Negan was a PE teacher and little league coach back in the day, and he always fondly remembered his favorite student, Carl.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think Carl in the comic/show is supposed to be around 14 years old when they meet Negan, but Chandler Riggs is actually 17 and LOOKS 17. So I split the difference a bit and in the beginning of this fic, Carl is 16 years old. This story takes place over a year to a year and a half.
> 
> Like most everyone else, I did take dialogue from the show when writing these chapters, but I tried to change it whenever possible so you guys wouldn't have to read the same lines over and over. I also don't indulge in the cursing thing too often unless the occasion calls for it, so he won't be dropping f-bombs every other sentence.
> 
> This fic is entirely from Negan's perspective.

“Pissing our pants yet?” Negan asked as he walked towards the group, Lucille resting on his shoulder. The sight before him was a familiar one that never failed to get his juices flowing. The stink of fear, sweat, and desperation clung to these murderous assholes like leeches to livestock.  _ Not so brave now, were they? _

He licked his lips. “Boy, do I have a feeling we're getting close.” Negan looked over the group. “Which one of you pricks is the leader?”

Simon pointed towards the man in the middle.”He's the guy.” 

_ This one, _ Negan can tell,  _ don’t scare easy. _

He smiled. “Hi. You're Rick, right? I'm Negan. And I do not appreciate you killing my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people, you killed more of my people.  _ Not cool, man. _ Not cool.”

Negan came to a stop before the Alexandrian's fearless leader. Rick’s eyes were bloodshot and wide as he stared up at Negan and the savior was reminded of his wives back home. Sometimes they gave him the same look as they sucked him off. That furious  _ helpless _ disgust.

He snorted. ”You see, Rick, whatever you do—no matter what—you don't mess with the new world order. And the new world order is this, and it's really very simple—So, even if you're stupid, which you very may well be, you can understand it.”

Negan could see the small smug smiles that his men were pulling. They’d been watching these shits kill their brothers and sisters for more than a month now, but they knew the drill. As much as they wanted to rip these people to shreds as though  _ they _ were the dead, he couldn’t allow that. No . . . Rick and his merry band of dickbags would suffer and then they would  _ work. _

Lucille was pulled off his shoulder and pointed towards the sweating, trembling man. “You ready? Here goes. Pay attention. You work for me now. You have shit, you give half of it to me. That's your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, _nasty_ pill to swallow, but swallow it you most certainly will.” 

He could see the gears turning behind Rick’s eyes as the man went through idea after idea on how to escape this situation with his people intact. Negan had seen many a survivor have similar thoughts. They’d always gotten out of every scrape—every impossible situation, and they always thought that Negan was no different.

Well, he would do his sacred duty and disabuse Rick of the notion, just as he had with every earner who came before him. “You didn't  _ really _ think that you were gonna get through this without being punished, now, did you?” He paused and smiled. “I don't  _ want _ to kill you people—just want to make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can't do that if you're dead, now, can you?”

Negan backed away again and looked them over once more. Most of them looked back at him—met his eye in a fruitless attempt to push aside their fear. All except one, that is. The youngest, Rick’s boy—Negan didn’t know his name—hadn’t looked up from the ground since the savior had stepped out of the trailer. 

He smiled as his gaze swung back to Rick. “But you killed my people, a whole damn lot of them. More than I'm comfortable with. And for that—for that you're gonna pay. So, now . . . I'm gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you.” Negan flipped the bat around until it was held recently in both hands. “This—this is Lucille, and she . . . is . . .  _ awesome. _ All this,  _ all _ this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor.”

There were a few sounds here and there of whimpering and shuttering, and the gravity of the shit-storm they’d found themselves in seemed to finally be dawning on them, Negan realized. He walked side to side, meeting each of their eyes as some flinched and other pushed forward as though offering their own heads. There was quite the variety to choose from. Dark and light skinned, male and female, old and young. One of them would be on the ground in a few minutes but choosing . . . that was all part of the art of control of this new world.

As he came to the end of the line, he eyed the familiar pistol that laid innocuously in front of the boy.  _ “You _ got one of our guns.”

Negan crouched down but the boy still wouldn’t look up, and he couldn’t see much besides a mane of long wavy hair and a hat that was far too large. He looked down at the weapon again. He’d known the man that gun had belonged to.

“You got  _ a lot _ of our guns,” he said and was about to get back up when he heard it. 

“Mr. Negan . . .?” a soft voice asked in a shuddering whisper and Negan felt his body freeze. He leaned forward towards the boy and put his finger under the kid’s chin, lifting his head and revealing his destroyed face. Even with the wide bandage, Negan remembered that blue eye, and he _knew that face._ It had been years since he’d seen anyone from before the end.

He pushed the hat off the boy—young man now—and his hand swept some of that disheveled long hair from his face. Negan’s eyes took in every similarity and change in the boy he’d known a lifetime ago. “As I live and breathe . . .  _ Carl Grimes,” _ he said knowingly before his head turned to face the boy’s father—and his horrified expression.

“Carl . . .” Rick said and Negan could hear the terror in the man’s voice. Negan's jaw twitched as he stood up and looked down at the boy. Carl was looking at the ground again so all he could see was that long hair of his. His mouth twisted before he looked at Simon.

“Hood the kid and get him in the van,” he said as he turned away. Now was not the time to reminisce. 

“No!” Rick called as Carl was dragged to his feet and pulled away from the group. The rest of them, especially the dark dread-locked woman fought their captors and Carl looked ready to cry. The noise was beginning to annoy him and he lashed out. Lucille hit the shoulder of the red-haired man and he hit the ground with a choked groan.

“Don't!” Carl called and Negan pointed the bloody bat towards the boy.

_ “You _ said  _ my _ name, boy. Don’t make it harder on the rest of them than you already have,” he said angrily. The kid looked so betrayed—so hurt that Negan was still planning to carry out his initial plan. Negan met Carl’s gaze and did not allow a trace of warmth to cross his features. The boy seemed to curl in on himself as he stopped struggling and allowed himself to be lead away quietly. Negan watched until the young man was out of sight. Examples had to be made, but Carl didn’t have to see it.

“Now where were we?” he asked as a familiar smile appeared on his face.

He needed to put that boy from his mind for now. There would be plenty of time to contemplate the existence of Carl Grimes at a later date. He walked by the group again, coming to a stop in front of what was probably a pretty girl at one point. Negan pursed his lips as he looked her over. She was sick and with the world they lived in, probably wouldn’t last much longer.

He raised a brow. “Jesus. You look shitty. I should just put you out of your misery right now,” he said raising the bat. Better to end this all now and get the hell out of here.

But one of the others—the Asian—sprang forward, yelling. “No! No! Stop it! God—!”

Dwight had the man down on the ground and Negan chuckled a bit. Well the apocalypse had apparently been good to some people as this one was clearly dating far out of his league. 

“Nope. Nope, get him back in line.”

The man continued to struggle and Negan shook his head. Why must they always make things more difficult than they needed to be? “All right, listen. Don't any of you do that again. I will shut that shit down,  _ no exceptions. _ First one's free—It's an emotional moment. I took your kid, one of you is about to die—I get it. You don’t want to make it easy on me, but I gotta pick somebody.”

He whistled a bit and rolled his shoulders. His fingers tightened around Lucille. “I simply cannot decide.” And really, they were all asking for it—in their own ways. Some to protect their loved ones, others who were simply useless to his new world order and meant nothing.

Negan chuckled as he finally made up his mind. “I got an idea. Eenie,” he began as he walked slowly by them all, pointing Lucille at each one as he said a new word. “Meenie . . . Miney . . . Mo . . . Catch . . . A tiger . . . By . . . His toe. If . . . He hollers . . . Let him go. My mother . . . Told me . . . To pick the very best one . . . And you . . . Are . . . It.”

The red haired man looked up at him unafraid and Negan was sure then that this was the right decision. He kept his gaze locked with Lucille’s victim as he spoke. “You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you're all gonna be doing that,” he said with a smile as the Lucille came down on the man’s head. “Ho! Ho! Look at that. Taking it like a champ!”

Blood splattered on him and the others around the dead man, and it painted the ground as he continued to beat the man’s skull into paste. The looks on their faces though . . . he watched them all break down in various way—except one man.  The man in the blanket was covered in blood and sweat. He glared at Negan from beneath his long disheveled hair as rage and hate ate away at him. He was close to the end of his fuse and just about ready to explode by the looks of him.

Negan grinned as he knelt down and got close to the bloody man. “You want to hit me, don’t you? You want to  _ kill me _ like I killed your buddy over there, but I’m doing you a favor right now . . .” He looked at Dwight. “What’s his name?”

Dwight immediately spoke up. “Daryl. His name is Daryl.”

“Daryl . . .” he said, tasting the name. It fit with the wild man in front of him. “As I was saying Daryl, I need you to remember that you guys have no more chances. You do anything— _anything_ and it won’t be you that I bludgeon to death, it’ll be one of these other fine people—maybe the boy in the van. Is that what you want?”

Daryl didn’t say anything but his body uncoiled slightly and Negan smiled pleasantly as he got to his feet. He let out a loud laugh of satisfaction and took a deep breath of the cold night air. “Aw man! Glad that’s over. I feel like we can all be on the same page—”

Rick’s grizzled and low voice cut him off, “I'm gonna kill you.”

Negan sighed as he rolled his eyes. If he had a nickle for every time he’d heard  _ that _ line. Still one always had to humor the parents. “What? I didn't quite catch that. You're gonna have to speak up.”

Rick sniffed a bit as he struggled to get his body to obey him. “Not today . . . not tomorrow . . . but I'm gonna kill you.”

Negan did his best to keep the disappointment from his face. “Je _sus_ ,” he said before looking up at his right hand man. “Simon . . . what did he have, a knife?”

The savior handed the weapon over. “He had an axe.”

Negan took the axe and slipped it into his belt as he stood up. It seemed an additional lesson was in order. He grabbed Rick by the scruff of his neck and began hauling him towards the trailer. “I'll be right back—maybe Rick will be with me. If not, well, we can just turn these people inside out, won't we?” He paused and shoved Rick inside. “I mean . . . the ones that are left.”

Rick was on the ground and Negan stepped over him like a mud puddle before slamming the axe into the formica table and making his way to the front of the trailer. 

He put the keys into the ignition. “Let's go for a ride.”

The engine sputtered as it struggled to turn over and Negan shook his head. “Wow. What a piece of shit.” He eventually stopped and chuckled again. “‘I'm gonna kill you.’ Are you kiddin' me?” he asked with a laugh. “Did you see what just happened—what I just _did?"_

“How do you know my son?” Rick asked and Negan finally turned and faced the man. He watched as Rick’s gaze never wandered to the axe—it stayed on the savior. His son was more important than anger or revenge.

Negan smiled as he turned back around, but he watched Rick in the rearview mirror. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me, Rick. Honestly I didn’t remember you either, on account of us never meeting.”

Rick’s brow furrowed. “If we never met, then how do you know me—know my son?”

The savior grinned nastily. “You sure you want to know, Rick? You sure you want to know how I met Carl and . . .  _ Lori?” _

He heard the gasp and the sound of the hatchet being pulled from the table, and he was up and out of his seat, catching Rick’s arm and shoving the man away. They grappled for a minute and he eventually got the other man down over the table. Rick panted with exertion and sheer exhaustion, but Negan was in perfect shape, his body honed to perfection for violence. Negan buried the axe into the table again, inches from Rick’s nose and smiled when the other man flinched.

“That was your chance, man. That was your chance to put an end to my reign and you failed—just like you failed your people out there—just like you would have failed your son. You kill me, what do you think is gonna happen to a pretty piece like your boy?”

“Don’t . . .” Rick whispered.

Negan snorted as he straightened back up. “Then don’t make me.” He looked at the window and saw the barest streaks of light peeking over the horizon. “Well, look at that. Dawn is breakin'. It's a brand-new day, Rick.”

He walked back to the front of the trailer and this time it turned over like a charm. Negan put the vehicle in gear and began driving it out of the clearing. The things he was doing to keep Carl’s father alive. The man was as hard-headed as his son had been back in the day—well before Negan had gotten ahold of him, anyway.

He smiled at the thought and the memories. “You should be thanking me, Rick. Your boy didn’t have to witness what happened—won’t have to witness could  _ still _ . . . happen,” he said, allowing a note of danger to lace through his tone.

Rick said nothing as the trailer slowed to a stop, and though the mist around them was thick in the early morning, he could hear the dead coming for them. Negan allowed a satisfied smile—the kind he always wore when there was violence to be had. Carl’s father was still sitting on the ground and Negan sat on the bench, leaning back lazily to watch the rapidly breaking man.

Negan pulled a hunting knife from his side and began picking at his nails. “I was your boy’s teacher back in that little school in bumfuck Georgia—his baseball coach too.”

Rick’s head snapped up. “T—teacher? You were a  _ middle school teacher _ before all this?”

He smiled and nodded. “Sure was. PE, if you can believe it. Ah, those were the days, ya know? Carl was one of my  _ favorite _ students. So attentive and well behaved. Didn’t hurt that his mom was a knockout.” Negan let out a breath and adjusted himself in his pant. “Whew! Never saw Carl’s  _ daddy, _ but the women—ya know they talk, and everyone knew all about how Rick the sheriff’s deputy was never around cause he and the old lady were havin’ . . . problems. We were all taking bets on when you’d leave her, and then someone else would get a taste of that single-mom pussy.”

Rick looked disgusted as he turned away and Negan shrugged his shoulders. By now, the dead were beating against the sides of the trailer and the windshield. 

It was quiet for a few seconds before Rick spoke, a not of pleading in his voice. “Please . . . Let him go. Take me instead.”

Negan snorted and shook his head. “No, Rick. I can’t do that. See you’re an earner. You’re gonna earn for me. And besides, I’m doing you a favor, really. I’ll take good care of your boy—reminds me of his super-hot mom, ya know? It’s those lips of his.”

Rick tried to lunge at him again, but Negan’s boot on his shoulder forced him back to the ground. The savior tsked in irritation as he reached over towards the table, and pulled the axe free again.

“Don’t you touch him,” Rick gritted out from the floor.

Negan allowed his lips to pull into an ugly smile. “See Rick, when I want something, I take it. And then it’s mine. You are mine. The people back there—they’re mine.” He reached down and waved the axe in front of Rick’s face. “This . . . This is mine.”

He got up and stood beside the door. “We’re gonna have a lot in common, you and me, Rick. I want us to be friends and that starts with us having a mutual understanding.” Negan pushed the door open and dispatched a few of the dead that wandered too close before throwing the axe out and onto the dirt. “Rick . . . go get my axe.”

The other man didn’t respond and Negan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hated this part in the stages of acceptance of the inevitable. The catatonic helplessness that overcame those who had never been cut down before. Being reminded that they were not invincible tended to do things to people.

Negan sighed and hauled the man to his feet. “Go . . . Get . . .  _ My _ . . .  _ Axe,” _ he said before shoving the man outside and slamming the door shut behind him. He waited there, listening to Rick groan and growl as he picked off the dead and managed to grab the axe. If Rick hadn’t been such a liability, he would have taken the man into his sanctuary.  Ah well, Rick was a lost cause, but the man’s son, perhaps there was still potential there. He listened as Rick fought off the attackers and as the man climbed up the ladder to the top of the RV. 

Negan smiled and sat back down before calling out. “Bet you thought you were all gonna grow old together, sittin' around the table at Sunday dinner and the happily ever after,” he said and heard the man collapse. Breaking people—especially strong people . . . There was an art to it.

“ . . . No. Doesn't work like that, Rick . . . Not anymore. Think about what happened. Think about what I will be  _ taking with me, _ and think about what you would do to protect the people you love—those that are left. People will die, Rick. It's what happens. Doesn't mean it has to be your people. Now, get me . . . my . . .  _ axe!” _

Negan wasn’t a fan of killing Rick. The boy would be pretty broken up about it, and that kid—that kid that had smiled up at him proudly whenever Mr. Negan congratulated him in place of his absent father—that kid would never smile at Negan.  Still . . . examples had to be made and he was getting impatient. He pulled the rifle out of its hiding place beside the passenger seat and fired enough bullets into the ceiling to get the man moving. He heard Rick leap off the back and watched as he hung from the decaying carcass of the hanging dead.

Corpses surrounded him, pawing and biting at his legs as the head of the corpse threatened to separate from its body. Negan watched, waffling back and forth on whether to save the man—give him one more chance. He sighed and before finally pushing  open the window and opening fire on the dead. They dropped like flies, heads blown open and Rick came crashing down on the mound of dead flesh.

He pulled the gun away from the window. “I really want you to try this time, Rick. Last chance. Bring me my axe!” Negan hit the stand and the window fell closed. That was it. If Rick didn’t make it back, Negan’s conscience was clear and Carl would just have to get over it.

As it was, he knew the instant that Rick got the axe and Negan listened to the sweet music of a predator in his element. And that’s what Rick was. Negan wasn’t stupid—he didn’t underestimate what Rick must have been capable of. A man didn’t live as long as he had in this world unless he was willing to get his hands dirty—and Negan was willing to bet that Rick’s hands were dirtier than most.

The dead continued to fall to the axe and Negan smiled as Rick tried to open the door. It would be so easy to leave him out there—maybe even shoot him through the door, but no, Rick didn’t need to die. He just needed to  _ learn. _ The man might have been the biggest fish in his pond, but there was an ocean of shit beyond the walls of his little settlement and Negan was the apex predator in that ocean.

He got up and pushed the door open, firing on the corpses before stepping back and waiting for Rick to get back inside. The man hurried after him, the door slamming shut behind him and he stood there, trembling with adrenaline and stress as Negan watched him. He held his hand out and Rick swallowed before handing the weapon over and collapsing into the seat.

“Atta _ boy!” _ he said as he crouched down to Rick’s level and met the man’s dead eyes. No . . . there was still _ that look _ in the man’s eye. One final push then.

The savior held up the bloody axe. “Who does this belong to?”

Rick’s eyes moved from Negan’s face to the weapon. “You,” he said steadily.

Negan chuckled. “Yeah, that’s right. And who do you belong to?”

The man’s response was slower but he answered, “You.”

He took pleasure in asking his next question. “And now our bonus round. Your son . . . Who does he belong to?”

Rick’s eyes went wide and Negan was reminded of Carl’s baby blues. The kid might have gotten his cute looks from his mother but the eyes . . . that was all Rick.

“Answer the question, Rick,” he said impatiently.

The man licked his dry lips and he watched as the last of the fight drained from that exhausted frame. “You . . . He belongs to you.”

Negan allowed a slow indulgent smile to form. “See, isn’t that so much easier, Rick? Now I don’t have to kill any more of your people. You can go about your business earning for me and your boy will be taken care of, I promise.” The savior stood up again and turned to head for the front of the trailer when Rick spoke up again.

“Why do you want him?”

Negan sighed. “You’re ruining our moment, _Rick._ Don’t ask questions that you don’t want answered.”

“Please don’t hurt him,” Rick said desperately and Negan turned back to see tears welling up in those familiar blue eyes. He honestly thought Negan was taking the kid for perverted sexual reasons.

The savior snorted at the idea as he looked down at the reddened tear-streaked face. “I know what you’re thinking, and I can’t say that the idea hasn’t crossed my mind, but really it doesn’t matter anymore—not to you anyway. Your son—he’s mine now. And Rick, one of the things you’ll come to know about me is that I protect what’s mine. I cherish it. And, I’ll  _ fuck _ what’s mine if the idea crosses my mind and no one—least of all you—can stop me.”

Rick broke down with a sob. “Please don’t hurt him,” the man said again.

Negan turned away again from the broken man. He should say that he would never force himself on anyone. No means no, but he said nothing. The more that Rick feared what could befall his son, the easier it would be to keep control of the man and his people.  He sat down in the driver’s seat and started the engine again, watching Rick cry into his bloody hands through the rear-view mirror. It only took a few minutes before they were back where they started and Negan grinned as he got up and walked back. Rick was easily hauled along with him, the man unable to even struggle anymore as he was dragged by his hair back out in front of his people. They all looked at Rick with varying degrees of hope and pity and Negan intended to nip that shit in the bud.

“Your man here—he understands how things are now, don’t you Rick?” he asked, crouching down beside the man. He leaned in and kept his words low. “You answer to me. You provide for me, don’t you.”

Rick sat there, staring at the ground and Negan sighed before yelling, “Speak when you're spoken to! You answer to me. You  _ provide _ for me.”

The broken man swallowed and his words were quiet. “Provide for you.”

“And you belong to me, right?”

“Right.”

Negan looked over the group again. “See, he understands that when I tell him to do something, he does it. Now, I’m hoping you’re all on the same page, cause like I said before I don’t want to kill you—you can’t earn for me if you’re dead, so don’t do anything stupid. Now, you can all still lead a nice, productive lives producing for me. I hope, for all your sakes that you get it now—that you understand how things work.”

No one said anything and he shook his head. “I think we’re done here boys. Load up everything of value and let’s get the hell out of here.”

His men scampered off to obey and Negan gave Rick one more meaningful look before bending over and whispering in his ear. “Just remember, Rick. You grow your balls back—you wanna try something, I will cut pieces off your boy and put them on your doorstep—or, better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do it for me.”

Rick choked a bit and the savior snorted before looking back at the rest of the filth. “Welcome to a brand-new beginning, you sorry shits! I'm gonna leave you a truck. Keep it—Use it to cart all the crap you're gonna find me.”

Negan heard his van pull up behind him and he grinned. “We'll be back for our first offering in one week . . . Until then, ta-ta.”

He turned away from the cowering group and watched as Simon jumped out of the driver’s seat of the van before coming around and getting into the passenger. Negan pulled himself up and behind the wheel of the vehicle.

He pulled the van away from the clearing and they began the long trek back to Sanctuary.

“He make any noise?” Negan asked and Simon shook his head

“Not a peep, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes. Given how ferral some of those others had been, he had sort of expected Carl to act up a bit more. “And he didn’t see what happened.” It wasn’t a question but Simon gave him a measured look. 

“No, sir.”

Negan didn’t give a shit about whatever non-existent thoughts were floating through Simon’s brain. “Good, gonna ease him into this.”

His second looked confused. “Into what? They sink or they swim, right?”

Negan snorted. “Nah, some require a more delicate touch, especially considering what that kid is gonna do for me in the future.”

“You gonna make him a wife?”

It wouldn’t be the first time that Negan had taken a male lover, though he’d never named any as a wife. He wasn’t exactly picky about where he stuck his dick so long as it was warm and moaning.

“No . . . No, I think I’ve got something else in mind for him,” he said thoughtfully.

The minutes ticked by and he sat in silence, thinking of the future, thinking of Simon’s questions, Rick’s fears, Carl’s pleading blue eye.

When they finally arrived back at the Sanctuary, he got out of the van but didn’t immediately open the back door for Carl. He wanted that kid safely stowed until he was ready to deal with him. Conner jogged up to him as he was giving out orders to the men.

“Negan, need to talk to you about redirect,” he said.

Negan looked skywards. He hadn’t exactly _hoped_ this would happen, but he’d moved his pieces around just right and sure enough, everyone played their parts to a tee and now . . . now someone was gonna be real unhappy tonight—couple of someones, maybe.

“What _about_ redirect?”

“I don’t know what happened. Something got screwed up and it’s a mess, but we’re taking care of it.”

“Find Mark. He was on redirect last night.”

Connor’s eyes widened and Negan felt his jaw twitch and he sucked his teeth. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Negan, I . . .”

“Save it. Find Mark and get the furnace ready.”

Connor swallowed but nodded and walked away quickly. Negan heard him call a few of the others and order them to help in the search. No one was meeting his eyes now. They all knew what was coming soon, but they understood—they knew how easily it could all slip away. That’s why the rules were there.

They hadn’t brought much extra with them this time, only a few vehicles and extra weapons from the Alexandrians. Unloading was done quickly, and he turned back to the Van. It sat there so innocuously, despite holding something that was so important to him. What the fuck was he going to do with this kid? Negan called for the courtyard to be cleared and he stood there alone, for a few minutes before finally walking over and opening the door. It was dark inside and he nearly missed Carl as the boy sat motionless in the farthest corner. His knees were drawn up under his chin, and his eyes were screwed shut.

He looked pathetic.

Negan sighed in irritation. Perhaps he'd made a mistake.  “I expected better of you, Carl,” he said off-handedly.

The kid looked up and Negan had only a fraction of a second to get out of the way before the boy revealed a gun and fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know, not a whole lot of Carl/Negan interaction going on here, but this was more for the establishment of Negan's character in this fic. This is very slow burn so don't expect Carl to be falling into bed with Negan anytime soon. There will, however be graphic depictions of Negan having sex with his wives in the mean time. I have the outline of this fic completely written, however this fic is not my highest priority(which is prob related to the fact that I made a new account to post it under so it would not be linked to my usual stuff) so no set schedule on chapter releases.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-read so there will prob be typos.

Negan hauled himself to the side as the boy fired his gun and he couldn’t help grinning.  _ Boy had some man-sized balls,  _ he thought as he looked up towards the sky in silent satisfaction. 

Simon came around to stand beside him and Negan kept his voice low. “Find out which of these idiots left a gun on the kid,” he said.

His second nodded before moving away as his men came rushing back into the courtyard. They all had their guns aimed at the van, ready for Negan’s signal to fire. Lucille wouldn’t be much use in a gunfight so he leaned her against the van.

“Don’t shoot ‘im,” he called, laughing like a loon and many of his men backed away. “Now  _ this _ is what I expected of you, son!” he said loudly. There was no response at first, and he wasn’t sure if Carl heard him but then the boy responded.

“I’m not your son!” he yelled.

_ Thank God for that, _ he thought, or some of the looks he’d slid Carl’s way would be a hell of a lot grosser than him just eyeing an under-age boy. “You always liked me calling you that before,” he said, allowing just a bit of smugness to show in his tone.

“That was when I thought you were a good man!” Carl yelled, sounding betrayed. “I looked up to you!”

Negan’s grin dropped.  _ Now that was just uncalled for. _ “Hey, I’m a greater man now than I ever was before,” he said, peeking around the corner and back into the cargo area of the van.

Another shot rang out, missing him by mere inches and he dove back out of sight. This was getting real interesting. The Alexandrians had done a decent job on the kid’s education so far, but Negan intended to finish it.

“Carl, you need to put down the gun and come out here. If I was gonna hurt you, I would have done it back in front of your dad—”

“What  _ did _ you do to my dad?” the kid asked, interrupting him.

Negan rolled his eyes but answered anyway. “Rick’s fine.”  _ Mostly, _ he thought with a tilt of his head. There was silence for a moment and the savior watched as the others repositioned themselves around the van, their guns at the ready. If Negan couldn’t talk this kid into putting down the gun, there would be no saving him.

“But you killed someone! Who was it?” Carl asked and Negan thought back. It  _ had _ been dark and he hadn’t been paying much attention, really.

“You really wanna know that?” he asked, mentally tallying up the Alexandrians in his mind.

“They’re my friends—my family.” 

_ Not for long, _ Negan thought as he came upon the answer. “The red guy, he took it like a champ.”

He heard the kid shifting inside the metal container before just barely catching a whisper. “Abraham.”

Negan shrugged. He hadn’t known the man’s name and was even less likely to remember it now that Red’s brain was splattered across the ground.

“Did you hurt anyone else?” the kid asked unsteadily.

The savior rolled his eyes. “Nope. They’re all fine. Even left them a truck to get back to your little city on the hill.” Carl’s voice was close, perhaps only the thin layer of metal separated them, now. 

The boy’s tone was thin. “Why?”

It was a question that he’d received hundreds of times, by people on their knees; bloodied and awaiting their deaths. By his own men when they wished he would take back an order. By this kid who wanted to know what was going to happen next.

All of these things passed through his mind but outwardly, Negan only snorted. “Come on now, Carl. You’re smarter than that—I know you are. Just like you’re smart enough to know that if you fire that damn weapon again, I’m gonna be forced to do something that  _ none _ of us will enjoy.”

There was a few seconds of silence before the tell-tale clatter of metal on metal could be heard, and Negan took a chance and swung himself around again. The gun was lying on the floor of the van and Carl was, again, sitting towards the back. Negan picked the gun up and tossed it to Simon, before waving him and the other men away.

“You sure, boss?” his second asked, his gaze darting between Negan and the kid.

The savior nodded, his eyes on Carl’s hunched over form. “Yeah, I’m sure.I’ll take care of this.” Simon nodded and walked away, his arm waving to the others to disperse.

Negan stood there, watching the boy. Things had changed—for the both of them—since the end, and the feelings of guilt that he’d long since pushed away tried to resurface. Carl wasn’t looking at him—wasn’t making a sound as his face was buried in his arms. Back in the clearing, Carl had looked at him as though Negan could possibly be his  _ savior. _

And he wanted to be that for Carl, but not in the way that the young man would hope for. Because nothing could ever be what it was before—the world would never be what it was before. Not in either of their lifetimes, anyway. He would never be the friendly PE teacher again, high-fiving little-leaguers and shaking hands with parents. Negan had . . .  _ evolved _ into someone who could command an army and turn chaos into order.  

He was  _ Negan, _ now.

Carl Grimes had adapted to the new world and he’d adapt to Negan as well. He had to.

The savior held his hand out and beckoned the young man forward. “Come out, Carl. This doesn’t have to be hard on you.”

The kid flinched at the sound of his voice and he hesitantly looked up. Negan met his gaze and he could see the minute twitches around the young man’s remaining blue eye. He was afraid, and at this point, he needed that.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he said quietly with a raised brow and Carl took a slow breath, but he eventually got up and trudged out of the van in a way that only a sulking teenager could. He didn’t accept Negan’s hand and jumped out himself, coming to stand a few feet from the savior. In the light of day, Negan was able to get a much better look at the kid. He was all string-bean arms and legs and topped out just under Negan’s chin. Nutrition had no doubt taken a back-seat to survival, but he was still young—perhaps a round of decent meals would help him fill out a bit more.

Negan resisted the urge to put his arm around the kid’s thin shoulders like he’d done years before—when he’d fantasized about having a son like Carl and a beautiful wife like Lori. His first wife, Lucille had died young of cancer, and he’d watched all those happy budding families, and he’d lemented never having one of his own. Those things hadn’t been in the cards then and they apparently weren’t in the cards now either. He hadn’t been lying to Rick when he’d described Carl as his favorite student or the bets that had taken place. He’d honestly been waiting for Rick to walk out on them, and Negan had fully intended to offer his shoulder to Lori to cry on.

The savior wondered then what had happened to her. He remembered that Rick had been shot just before outbreak—big news in a tiny town when the star deputy was fighting for his life in the hospital. Carl had been in his class when the assistant principal had pulled the boy into the hallway, and he’d been there to hand Carl off to his mom when she arrived to pick him up. He didn’t remember Rick ever getting out of the hospital before the outbreak, and when things had gone south, he’d honestly written the man off. But Rick Grimes had survived and to think, little Carl Grimes was walking with him again.

Though he wasn’t quite so little anymore. “How old are you now, Carl?” he asked as they walked through the courtyard towards the factory. Other saviors watched them, some in curiosity, others in suspicion and still more with hate as they knew where he’d come from.

“Almost seventeen . . . I think,” the kid said, his eye firmly on the ground.

He was older than Negan had thought, but then, he’d always remembered Carl as a freckled sprite hitting baseballs and running into his arms when he won a game. Rick hadn’t turned up to a single little-league game that Negan could remember—too busy avoiding his wife and saving the day in a backwater town.

“When’s your birthday?”

Carl hesitated before answering. “January twenty-first.”

Negan whistled. “Just a few months shy, then,” he said offhandedly.

“What are you going to do with me?”

That  _ was _ the question of the day—the one being asked of him every time one of his people looked their way. He smiled none-the-less. “Haven’t quite decided yet, but for now, you’ll be staying in my home as my . . . ward.”

He’d be telling everyone to keep their mitts off the kid until he figured out exactly what he was going to do with him. Despite Carl’s little stunt in the van, he didn’t know much about the boy, didn’t know what—if anything—he was capable of. Sure, he’d gotten reports that Rick took his kid with him as backup on runs occasionally, but information about the youngest Alexandrian had been sparse. 

There was something different about Carl—and not only cause the kid was clearly missing an eye. Age and circumstance and ensured that he wasn’t the boy that he’d been all those years ago. The end of the world had changed him, as it had so many other people, and now Negan just needed to figure out in what ways.

Carl followed him as they entered the factory. People were milling about, trading points for goods, putting in requests, and just generally being communal. These were his people, living by his rules and it was time to impress that fact upon Carl. 

He leaned down, ignoring the way the young man moved away, and whispered, “Check this out.”

Negan left him and walked towards the railing. He looked down at his people with no small amount of pride. They weren’t all there, of course, but there was enough to make the impression he was going for. He smiled as they noticed him one by one and all took the knee. His smile grew as he basked in their respect for his leadership and fear of his wrath. He felt Carl walk up behind him, the boy clearly watching what was happening with trepidation regarding his own future.

Negan leaned against the railing and let his voice carry through the factory. “The saviors have gone out into the world and fought the dead and come back with some  _ really _ good stuff.” Carl stood just behind him and Negan puffed his chest out a bit more. “Some of that stuff can be yours if you work hard . . .” Negan looked over at the kid, but Carl was far more interested in the people below. “. . . And play by the rules. Today, everyone gets fresh vegetables at dinner, no points needed.”

There was a quiet cheer from the participants and while it wasn’t the round of applause that he got when there was fresh meat on the menu, it was good enough. He turned and looked down at the quiet boy. This time Carl looked up at him, his one blue eye considering of everything that he had seen.

Negan leaned in again, his lips close to Carl’s ear. “You see that?  _ Respect.” _ He let out a small chuckle. “Cool, huh? They still on their knees?”

The boy didn’t answer so Negan turned back around and called out, “As you were!”

He walked away but kept his pace slow. Carl lingered a few seconds at the railing,  watching the people below and Negan smiled. Power did things to people—changed them into the most extreme version of themselves. When there were no consequences for one’s actions, and one could act any way they chose, and well . . . l that was the only time you could truly know a man.

Negan paused at the stairwell and turned back. The boy still stood there watching the saviors and Negan pursed his lips. “Come on, Carl,” he said and the kid jumped a bit before scurrying after him. This time, Negan did put a hand on his back, pushing him forward and up the stairs to his apartments.

The sanctuary was a former steel factory that his people had fortified over a year ago with semi-trailers and fencing. The lower levels had been cleared out and repurposed for communal areas and distribution while many of the outbuildings now functioned as single family homes. He’d been tempted to take one of them for himself—he liked a bit of privacy, but there was something to be said for living at the highest point in the compound. To be able to look out at all he’d built and know it was his.

They came to the top three floors. They had been offices for the bigwigs back in the day but now they served as his home. Three floors might have been a bit much for most people, but with his little ‘family’ he needed the space. Carl’s eyes were wide as they entered the main living area. 

“Ladies,” he said with a smile before adding, “Don’t mind the kid.”

This had once been two rooms that he’d had combined to suit his apparently ever increasing family. His wives sat in various places around the room, decked out in short black dresses and heels. They were framed with classic furniture and art that he’d had brought in over the years. Masterpieces that had been world famous only a few years ago now hung in Negan’s formal sitting room. His wives seemed perfectly at home amongst the luxury he’d provided, and they all looked so beautiful and elegant, like a snapshot of some highfalutin cocktail party from before the end. 

Carl was swallowing reflexively at the group of women and Negan smiled as he leaned in.  _ “I know,”  _ he said meaningfully. “Every woman where you’re from dresses like they do the books at an auto-shop,” he added with a snort before deciding to throw the kid a bone . . . so to speak. “You’re gonna want to look at their titties. It’s cool. _ I _ won’t mind— _ they _ won’t mind. Knock yourself out.”

Carl seemed to be in a state of shock so Negan left him alone for the moment. His wives were all looking up at him, but none of them said anything. And  _ that _ was all he needed to know. Amber, his newest and current favorite wife sat with Sherry on one of the sofas and he scoffed. The blonde girl looked up at him with her big blue eyes before he gave her a sharp gesture with his head. Those blue eyes had been what had attracted him to her—well that and her plump ass.

She swallowed, but got up and slunk out of the room. Sherry glared at him and followed her out, and the rest of his wives watched them leave—well except Ginger. She sat silently on her chair, reading over something on her ipad—the woman was never without the thing.

Sherry would be as useless as tits on a boar-hog when it came to getting answers so he looked down at his first wife. “She do it?” he asked.

Ginger looked up from her reading, an elegant red brow raised. “She wasn’t sitting over there looking like misery personified for the sheer pleasure of it.”

And wasn’t that just like Ginger. She was the coldest bitch he’d ever met, but he liked that about her. He didn’t really fuck her too often anymore, but then, he hadn’t married her ‘cause of her skills in bed—which were non-existent on a good day. No, he’d found her holed up in the Smithsonian in DC when they’d been out scavenging. She’d threatened him with a shotgun and at first he’d thought she was protecting herself, but then she’d yelled at one of his men for touching one of the paintings on the wall.

It had taken some doing to convince her to put down the gun—even more to get her to return with him to the Sanctuary. She didn’t have much in the way of useful skills so he’d married her and they had an understanding. She now spent her days maintaining his ever growing art collection. He had paintings, sculpture, and vases that he’d allowed her to take from the museum. Most of them were in storage, but his favorites hung right here in his home. Negan turned back to see Carl still looking around, his eye wide with wonder and confusion. He walked back over and looked down at the kid.

“Are they . . . ?” Carl began, even though he was unsure of what he was even asking.

“They’re my wives, Carl,” he said as he finally draped an arm around the boy’s shoulder. He flinched but they’d work on that. Negan had nothing but time.

The savior turned back to his family. “Girls, this is Carl. He’s gonna be staying with us from now on. I expect you all to look after him as if he were your own,” he said with a grin. They all nodded, eyeing the boy and he could see them all planning and theorizing about what their leader and husband was doing with a teenage boy.

Negan cast one last grin towards the group before turning away and leading the boy back down the hall towards the stairs again. Up and up they walked until they came to the very top floor. He could hear sobbing coming from the first room, and Carl seemed unnerved by the noise. Thankfully, once they entered Negan’s bedroom, the noise stopped.

He pulled his gloves off as Carl looked around the room. The furnishings were upscale and dark with thick stripes as the dominating pattern. Negan watched as Carl walked up to the painting that hung opposite his bed. A red and white modern piece that he loved to look at for its bold colors.

He eyed the young man as he reached up to touch the canvas, but Negan spoke up. “I wouldn’t do that. Ginger would have your balls, then mine.”

“Ginger is . . . one of your wives?”

“Yes,” he answered before heading towards his sofa and sitting down. Carl watched him and hesitantly made his way towards the chair opposite him, but Negan wasn’t having that.

“Come here, Carl,” he said gesturing for the boy to sit  _ beside _ him.

The young man looked at the hand laid upon the cushion for a long moment before he finally made his way around the coffee table and gingerly sat down—though there were multiple feet between them.

“You used to sit just beside me,” Negan said. “When I took the team out for pizza and maybe a movie at the rec center.”

“That was a long time ago,” the boy answered quietly.

Negan looked Carl up and down, taking in the thin frame, the long hair that he no doubt wore to try and disguise his bandaged face, and the stoic expression that was so foreign to the animated and happy child that he’d been so long ago.

“Yes it was,” he said thoughtfully

“Why am I here?”

“Really Carl, I thought you’d know—”

Carl shook his head, his expression determined. “Not why you took me, why am I in your house? I saw the . . . slaves you have working outside the fences and the people who are tied up. Why aren’t I with them?”

Negan’s eyes narrowed and his boots hit the ground with a heavy thud before he reached over and hauled Carl close to him again. “There ain’t no slaves around here, boy and I resent the implication. Everyone here works for protection and food, but they aren’t forced to stay.”

“Dwight—”

“Dwight and his women could have left with my blessing, but instead they stole from me. I don’t care if someone leaves—so long as they can accept the consequences of their actions. I’m a reasonable man like that,” he said before pushing the boy away again.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Negan snorted ungracefully. “Christ kid, you want to be out there on the line dealing with the corpses? And before you say ‘yes’ just to be a spiteful little shit, remember that your dad is going to work for me on the auspices of keeping  _ you _ safe. But if you aren’t around anymore, then he has no motivation so I gotta create a new one for him—which means another of your people comes here and I guarantee it, their digs won’t be a cushy as yours.”

Carl’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t ask again and Negan smiled. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

His eyes continued to move along Carl’s face, specifically on the bandage that covered almost half of it. He hated it. The scars that people received out here were marks of honor. They were a testament to the fact that you’d been through the shit and you still lived.

“Take that crap off your face, Carl,” he said.

The boy reared back as if he’d been struck. “What? No way!”

A slow smile began to form on Negan’s lips. No one said ‘no’ to him. Not anymore.

“Carl, you gotta know by now that I gotta soft spot for you. So you probably also know that I’m not likely to damage you—to badly anyway. But see, if you piss me off, then  _ someone _ has to pay for that. I only killed Red back there, but when I go to pick up my shit next week, I can always take my pound of flesh out of another one of them. So every time you feel like saying ‘no’ to me, ask yourself if you really want to piss me off? And can you accept the consequences of your decision?”

Carl’s one eye blinked rapidly as he digested what Negan had said. “What happened to you?” the boy finally asked and Negan chuckled. He got that one a lot too.

“The dead started walking Carl . . . And then I figured out that the dead weren’t even the scariest thing out there. Now . . .  Get that hair out of your face, and let me see,” he said, and his voice brokered no arguments.

The kid swallowed but he none-the-less began to unwrap the bandages from around his face, pulling gauze out of the way and revealing a hole the size of a plum, blasted into the side of his face. His entire eye was gone, and Negan could see bone and muscle clear as day.

It was pretty Goddamn disgusting if he was being honest, but the kid seemed insecure enough about his wound. If he’d been older, Negan would not have hesitated to bust his balls over it, but the point of this exercise wasn’t to humiliate him, but rather to get him to see that showing the physical result of the shit he’d done, sent a far more powerful message than anything he could simply say.

He shrugged. “It may not be a hit with the ladies, but I swear to you, no one is gonna screw with you looking like that.”

Carl gave him an incredulous look. “Are you serious, right now?”

Negan let out a guffaw of a laugh. “I was just screwing with you, but all jokes aside, you look rad as hell. I wouldn't cover that shit up.”

He grinned before yanking the bandages from Carl’s lap and getting up.

“Hey!” the kid yelped, standing as well, but Negan was already dumping the dirty strips into the garbage.

“You don’t need them anymore,” he said seriously.

Carl looked ready to say something but a knock on the door silenced him. He seemed to remember himself in that moment—remember where he was and _who_ he was talking to.

Negan wasn’t entirely sure whether he liked that or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to reiterate that this is a slow burn fic that takes place over the course of over a year. Carl is still sixteen when this begins. He'll be eighteen by the time anything too 'questionable' happens. Sorry, I'm an old lady and I can't really bring myself to write about underage boys.
> 
> I'll try to update this once a week or so, but it depends on my schedule with work and school.


	3. Chapter 3

“Come in,” he called, still watching Carl as the boy sat back down and looked anywhere but at Negan. The door swung open and Fat Josef appeared, his large frame taking up most of the doorway, but the man didn’t move any further inside. He’d obviously drawn the short straw, Negan thought with a grin.

He made a gesture with his fingers indicating that the other man should come forward and Joe swallowed a bit before coming inside, a familiar weapon clutched reverently in both hands.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but, uh you left Lucille out by the truck,” Joseph said, stuttering only a little.

Negan came forward. “That’s right,” he said, taking the bat from the other man’s hand. “Had my hands full with our newest addition, didn’t I?” he asked, though the question wasn’t really directed at anyone.

Negan looked back at Carl, who still sat there with his eye on the ground like a kicked puppy. It sickened him and he felt his lips curl in disgust as he looked back at the other savior.

“Fat Joseph,” he began and saw the man’s adam’s apple bob in fright. “Did you carry her all the way up here for me?”

Joseph nodded frantically. “Yes, sir.”

His grin was all teeth as he leaned in a bit. “Were you gentle? Were you kind? Did you treat her like a lady?”

“Yes! Yes, sir!” the man said, sweat beginning to shine over his forehead.

Negan chuckled. “Did you pet her little pussy like a lady?” he asked and at the man’s wide-eyed horror, Negan let out a loud laugh. “I’m just fucking with you, man—A baseball bat doesn't have a pussy.”

Joseph’s answering nervous laugh was silenced when Negan finally growled out, “Now, get the hell out.”

_ Never saw a fat man move so fast, _ he thought as Joe hightailed it out of the room, the door shutting behind him.

He turned back to Carl, smile firmly in place, even as his eyes narrowed. “Now, you see? That's what I'm talking about,” he said walking back towards the young man. “Men breaking each other's balls. This is the shit your dad's supposed to be teaching you,” the savior added as he sat down, Lucille laid down on the coffee table.

“My dad taught me plenty,” the kid said mutinusly. “He’s going to kill you.”

Negan allowed himself a dangerous grin. Rick had said something similar, and he wondered then exactly what that group had seen— _ done _ in the three years since the fall. Carl did not seem in any way hesitant in his words, which meant that Rick had killed enough people to make a strong impression on his own son. Had he passed on that taste for blood to Carl? Negan aimed to find out.

“You really think so, Carl? You think that broken crying man that I left behind in the dirt is gonna come in here and kill me?”

At this Carl finally did look up, his gaze unwavering. “Yes.”

And wasn’t Carl just the cutest thing—just like his mom back in the day. Speaking of . . .

“What happened to your mother,” he finally asked. It was something that had been bothering him since he’d first laid eyes on Carl.

Lori Grimes had never really given him the time day. She was polite enough, but her eyes had never strayed to any man that he’d seen, even when her marriage had been falling apart. What had caught his attention was the way she would help out some of the other kids whose families couldn’t afford some of the equipment needed to play baseball. He did the same when he could, but Lori had had a heart of gold and watching kids who hadn’t been able to play, run around the bases in their new cleats while the child’s mom hugged Mrs. Grimes in thanks . . . He’d never been able to take his eyes off her.

Carl blinked several times as though he’d been caught completely off guard. His breath was stuttering as he answered. “I’m not talking about that,” he said.

Ah . . . so that’s how it was. He’d probably seen Lori get ripped apart by corpses. Negan had known all these years that the woman was probably dead, but . . . Carl’s expression was enough to know that it hadn’t ended well.

He sighed and decided to drop the subject as he got up and headed for the door. He stuck his head outside and called out. “Sherry!”

Negan left the door open and returned to his his seat beside Carl. The kid was quiet and he hated that. Sherry trudged inside, the sleeve of her dress darkened in places with dampness. No doubt Amber had been sobbing her eyes out looking for sympathy. He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Negan?” she asked snidely.

His eyes narrowed into slits at her tone. He’d never hit any of his wives—women and children were to be protected. But there were worse things than physically hurting someone. He said nothing at first and his silence was deafening. She looked away, licking her lips nervously.

_ That’s better. _ “I want you to clean out the top floor bedroom today. Carl will be taking that one.”

Sherry’s eyes widened. “But Negan. What about Amber?”

“What about her?” he asked with a raised brow.

His wife shook her head. “She made a mistake—”

He let out a guffaw. “Mistake? That’s a good one, Sherry.”

Her jaw tightened and she sighed. “She didn’t mean—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he said, his tone lowering. “Forgetting to do the laundry is a mistake. Spilling the coffee is a mistake.” He tilted his head. “Letting another man stick his dick in her doesn’t qualify as a mistake.” His eyes slid to the boy. “Does it, Carl?”

The kid looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “What?”

He locked his gaze onto Carl’s and the kid was taken aback once more at how cold he was.  “Would you consider your girl letting another man fuck her, a mistake?” he asked slowly, watching as Carl’s jaw worked up and down for a second before he swallowed and looked at Sherry. 

“No,” he said finally and Negan could see that while Sherry hadn’t expected a different answer, she deflated nonetheless.

He snorted and turned his gaze back to Sherry. “You heard the kid. Now get her shit out of the room. Carl will be sleeping there tonight.”

Sherry nodded before stepping back out. It was quiet once more, at least for a while. Carl shifted uncomfortably, the leather creaking loudly with every movement. There would be talk of course. He was putting a sixteen year old boy in the bedroom normally reserved for his favorite wife.

Then Carl spoke again. “Is Amber another one of your wives?”

Negan smiled. “She was. But she’s been fucking that shithead Mark for almost two months—thought I wouldn’t know. I just needed someone to catch them in the act and now I can get rid of her.”

“Couldn’t you get rid of her anyway?” the kid asked in genuine confusion, and Negan could see where the idea had come from. After all, who would say anything to him if he got rid of one or two?

Still, he snorted. “Carl. One doesn’t just  _ get rid _ of one’s wife. Your wife loves and supports you and in return you protect and provide for her. I offer my wives the benefit of my position here in sanctuary with the caveat that they hold the cards. They can divorce me and go back to earning points or going on runs if that’s what they want, but part of my protection of them is that I can’t revoke it unless they do something.”

Carl seemed baffled by the concept but that was alright. He’d learn soon enough that Negan meant business when it came to maintaining his marriages. He’d been tempted to forgive Amber and let her stay—he’d allowed her affair to go on for months after all—but he was tired of her constant whining. 

“How many wives do you have?” the boy asked.

He took a mental tally. “Four now that Amber is gone.”

Carl nodded and looked away, but something caught his attention—something beyond the window. “What’s that?” he asked and Negan followed his gaze to the thin line of smoke that curled up into the sky.

Negan stood again. “Come on, Carl. Time to get up. It’s ready.” The kid hesitantly stood and Negan lead him out the door.

“What’s ready?” Carl asked from behind him, though the boy dutifully followed.

“The iron,” he said simply.

As they made their way down the stairs, they passed three of his wives who stood in the doorway to the sitting room. They bowed their head to him and he nodded in return, but didn’t stop. Saviors left and right took the knee as he walked by them, pausing their work, their talk, or their gawking to show proper respect.

He didn’t wear his usual smile. He took no pleasure in what he was about to do . . . well, maybe a little.  _ That fucker, Mark thought he could bang one of the big man’s wives and get away with it. We’ll see how much pussy he’s getting after I’m done with him, _ Negan thought.

The fires were burning hot. He could feel the stifling heat even as he entered the common area. No one had noticed him yet and he couldn’t help letting Lucille fall heavily against the railing as he slowly walked across the catwalk.

Upon the first clang, everyone inside knelt, but the clanging continued, mostly on account of the way Mark’s shoulders flinched with every sound. Negan eventually came to a stop and looked out over his people.

Some looked squarely at him, while others looked at the ground. The only sound within the cavernous space was Mark’s whimpering and he sighed.  _ Pussy. _

He held Lucille out towards Carl. “Hold that for me,” he said and the boy held it with a fearful reverence as though he were unsure what to do in that moment.

Negan turned back to the crowd. “You know what’s about to happen and it’s gonna be hard to watch,” he began with a nod. “I don’t want to do it. I wish I could just ignore the rules and let it slide but I can’t . . . Why?” he asked them.

As expected everyone answered as one. “The rules keep us alive.”

He nodded again in acceptance and began slowly making his way down the steps to the first landing. “That is right. We survive. We provide security to others. We bring civilization back to this world. We are,” he said seriously. “The Saviors.”

Negan could feel Carl standing just behind him and he knew the kid was taking it all in—observing the complete obedience of his people. “Now, we can't do that without rules,” he said seriously. “Rules are what make it all work. I know it's not easy, but all we have without them is what’s out  _ there!” _

The saviors shrunk a bit away from him as he pointed outside the compound. They all knew what awaited them without the protection that he provided. Death by corpse or by someone meaner than them.

“There's always a cost.  _ Here, _ if you try to skirt it, if you try to cut that corner,” he began before letting out a mirthless chuckle. “Then it is the iron for you.”

Silence still reigned as he met the eye of everyone bold enough to look up and he smiled. “On your feet.”

He walked down the steps and watched as the sea of people parted for him in a streaming wave. Sherry and Amber stood off the the side and he met his wives’s gazes squarely. Amber was hunched over with a gleaming wet face and Sherry . . . Sherry watched the proceedings with regret but also some satisfaction. 

_ Ah, so that’s how it was,  _ he thought as he turned away.

“Now does anyone want to tell me what charges have been brought against Mark, here,” he asked, his hand coming down to squeeze the other man’s shoulder painfully.

No one spoke—no one wanted to anger him by saying what they all knew.

“Rumor are a-swirling, I’m sure, but the fact is that I’m always ready and willing to settle personal matters in private . . . but when it comes to the safety of our home—the safety of all of your lives, that’s when examples need to be made,” he said with a tilt of his head.

“Mark here, was in charge of Rr-direct this morning—was supposed to be keeping the corpses moving and away from the fences . . . But he wasn’t. No, instead he was banging my ex-wife, and as a result one of our workers from one of the colonies was killed this morning. This woman came here as a sign of her people’s loyalty to us and now she’s dead.”

As he’d spoken, his voice had taken on an edge and anger had begun to suffuse his tone. Truthfully, he couldn’t have given a shit about the girl in question, but she’d come from Hilltop, one of the more rambunctious colonies, and now he’d need to not only explain what had happened, which would stir them up even more, but also take another of their people in tribute.

His eyes moved to the fire. “And that,” he said. “That I won’t tolerate.”

Dwight pulled the iron from the fire as Negan put on the thick glove. He looked down at the handsome young man. He could see why Amber would have been attracted to such a good-looking man. Negan wondered if she would still have him after his face looked as though it had been run through the meat grinder.

Negan aimed to find out. “Mark,” he said with a satisfied smile. “I’m sorry, but it is what it is.”

Marks shuddering breath turned into screams as Negan forced the iron down over his face and temple. The smell of burning flesh filled the air and he could hear the low sounds of dry heaving from the other saviors, but Negan never looked away from the bubbling flesh.

Not until he pulled it—and the top layers of Mark’s skin—away. “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” he asked, but Mark had completely passed out.

Negan leaned away and rolled his eyes. “Jesus, he pissed himself.”

He turned back to Dwight. “Clean that up,” he said before turning to the doctor. “Doc, I'm all done. Do your thing.”

Negan finally looked toward Carl. The kid still held Lucille in both hands in front of him, but his eyes were on Mark—on the gaping disgusting mass of twisted flesh that now decorated the other man’s face.

He walked towards the young man and came to a stop in front of him. “See something familiar?” he asked with a sarcastic smile.

Carl tore his eyes away from Mark and looked up and Negan. The savior expected to see disgust, hatred perhaps, but he saw none of that . . . this . . . what he’d just seen—it didn’t even phase him. What exactly had Carl been doing all these years? Negan desperately wanted to find out why such a gruesome act as what he’d witnessed seemed so terrifying to his own Saviors, but didn’t even make an impression on this boy. Had he seen worse? Had he  _ done _ worse?

That was perhaps another question for another day. Negan turned back around to address the crowd. “Let Mark's face be a daily reminder to him and to everyone else that the rules matter. I hope that we all learned something today, because I don't ever want to have to do that again.”

Negan turned back to face Amber and Sherry. “You and I are no longer married. You cheated on me and therefore you’ve chosen to end our marriage of your own volition,” he said.

Amber shook her head and ran over to him, falling to her knees in front of him. Her slim pale fingers reached up to clutch at his jacket. “Please, Negan. I didn’t mean to. It was a mistake. Please don’t divorce me,” she said through her sobs.

Negan stepped back. “You made your choice. Now go see to your man,” he said with a grimace before walking away. Carl turned to follow him, but Negan put an arm around him once more.

“Come on Carl, let’s get some food. I’m suddenly in the mood for steak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can believe it, I've actually pretty much written this whole story out already plot-wise. I had it even before posting the first chapter. This chapter though . . . this chapter was so shitty to write. Like, trying to watch a scene over and over and match up dialogue with thoughts and actions is just so god damn tedious. That's why this took so long. I just straight up didn't want to do it.
> 
> But ya'll's comments kept me chipping away at it little by little. Every time a comment popped up in my inbox, I'd write out a little more and finally, here is another chapter. I don't think the rest will be so hard as everything veers off pretty heavily from the show after this so I can do my usual thing.
> 
> Hope ya'll liked it. :)


	4. Chapter 4

“Get up, kid!” Negan yelled as he beat on Carl’s door. Silence greeted him but that was pretty typical. He’d been busy the last few days, and he hadn’t had time for his young ward. Carl had kept himself confined to the bedroom, only coming out for food and to use the bathroom. 

It wasn’t what Negan had had in mind when he’d taken the young man. Carl needed to assimilate with the other Saviors—needed to become a Savior.

“Carl!” he called again and the door was thrown open. 

“What?” the kid asked, his plush lips tight as though he expected violence.

Negan allowed his eyes to move over the rail-thin form of his ward. Still needed more meat on his bones. “Get your shit. We’re going for an inspection.”

He could tell that he’d surprised Carl, but the kid tried to sound disinterested. “You don’t need me for that,” he said and went to shut the door but Negan had a hand out stopping him in less than a second.

Negan snorted. “No, I don’t  _ need _ you for that,” he said sarcastically. “But you’re gonna go anyway. I’m not gonna let you sit in here all day anymore.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “What do you care? I’m just a hostage anyway,” Carl said dismissively.

Negan grinned indulgently, his arm coming down heavily around Carl’s neck. “Now, don’t be like that, son. You may be my guest, but you still gotta earn your food. So far, you’ve just been eating and shitting and I ain’t never said a word, did I? This was your adjustment period, but all that’s over and done with now,” he said with only a touch of mirth. “Now you gotta pull your weight.”

Carl tried to shrug out of his hold, but Negan only tightened his grip until the young man finally stopped wriggling around. He was glad the kid didn’t have a weapon or it would probably have been dug into his kidneys by now. He was also fairly certain that Carl could have put up much more of a fight, but for some reason he was holding back.

Perhaps he was afraid for his the safety of his people, perhaps he valued his own life, perhaps he was just trying to manipulate the situation. Whatever the reason was, the Alexandrian was playing his cards close to his vest. 

It was almost enough to make Negan proud.

“What do you want?” Carl finally asked.

Negan grinned. “Now see, was that so hard? It’s always easier to just do as I say, Carl. That’s your lesson for today,” he said as he finally released the kid. 

Carl stumbled back and out of his reach, his shoulders tense as though he was either expecting an attack or preparing to launch one of his own. It seemed to be an almost default setting for the former little-leaguer. 

Negan’s tongue ran over his teeth in appreciation. “Like I said. Get your shit. You’re gonna be shadowing me today.”

Carl’s brow furrowed in that obnoxious way that only teenagers could truly pull off.  “What shit? Your men took everything. I don’t even have a pocket knife anymore.”

At this Negan finally did look around the room. Had the place always been so big? Amber had insisted on far too many pieces of over-stuffed furniture in here during her time, that he’d thought the room was the size of a postage stamp.

But no. There was only a twin-size mattress with a basic metal frame, a chair, and a low dresser now.  _ Sherry’s work no doubt, _ he thought with a sigh of irritation. She’d not spoken to him since he’d kicked Amber out—trying to make herself out to be some saint when it was fairly clear she’d engineered the entire thing.

“Fair enough,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”

Carl didn’t nod or acknowledge him, just stared at him with that one clear blue eye of his. Negan walked out and Carl followed dutifully as they left the apartment and headed for the courtyard. SUVs and motorcycles are already lined up and waiting for him. The house manager, Connor was doing final checks while Simon chatted with him—well tried to chat with him. Connor had never been the most receptive person but he was efficient and took his work seriously.

As Negan approached, Simon finally noticed him and stepped away from the house manager. Negan eyed Connor’s stiff back but said nothing, pointing to the cab of his truck while looking at Carl.

“Get in, kid,” he said and Carl looked like he was on the way to hangman. Negan tried not to take it personally. He failed utterly, however, when Carl continued to just stand there.

“Get in the damn car,” he said, stepping closer to the young man. Carl met his eyes for a second before they slid over to Simon and then finally to the truck. His lips twisted, but he nodded and headed for the passenger side of the vehicle.

Simon looked between him and the kid for a few seconds. “Negan, what?” he asked, clearly confused by the presence of Negan’s ward.

“You ride with Connor, this time,” he said dismissively, watching as Carl stepped up and into the seat.

He heard the murmuring of his men—their reluctance to include someone they saw as an outsider, but no one said anything outright as Simon nodded and walked off without another word, though not without casting a withering look to the young man.

Negan knew he’s have to keep an eye on that situation, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He opened his door and waved his arm to signal their roll out. As his door shut, the gates to the sanctuary swung open and the caravan began making its way out. Carl said nothing, though Negan could see even out of his peripheral vision that Carl was watching the changing landscape avidly, as though he’d have some chance to use that knowledge.

_ Not for a long while, _ Negan decided. Carl was well and truly entrenched in his loyalty to his father and the Alexandrians. It would take some careful planning to pry Rick’s fingers from his son’s conscience.

Some people could be broken with starvation, while others with sleep deprivation, still others required a more active form of torture . . . and then there were the ones like Carl. People whose strength of will was strong enough to last until death and no amount of beating or attack could fracture their walls. No . . . they needed to be convinced to remake  _ themselves _ from within.

Carl could be shown a new way . . . Negan hoped so anyway.

They sat in stony silence for almost an hour before the kid finally spoke again. “Where are we going?”

Negan allowed his teeth to show as he smiled. “Got inspections and redistribution today,” he said as though that explained everything. It didn’t, and judging by the way Carl rolled his eyes, the kid was on to him.

“What are inspections and redistribution?” the kid asked in an overly patient tone.

This time Negan did laugh. There was the smart-ass little sprite he remembered. “We’re headed to one the outposts. They’ve collected from the colonies in their district. Not all of it will come back to Sanctuary. Some of it will go to other outposts and still more of it will go to other colonies.”

Carl blinked. “Other colonies? You send stuff to other colonies?”

Negan pursed his lips as he adopted a somewhat offended tone. “‘Course, Carl. Some of the colonies are very good at producing certain things, but they need raw materials from other places. And of course, a few of them had hard seasons and I can’t have my colonies dying off of starvation during the winter. That’s just bad business.”

Carl snorted at his words. “Can’t have that,” he murmured. 

The Savior tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. “No . . . we can’t.”

Silence reigned once more as they went even further into the countryside and away from the city. The outpost wasn’t visible from the main road, even the dirt trail leading up to it was carefully covered and disguised. One wouldn’t notice the break in the tree-line unless one knew exactly where to look.

A hundred yards past mile marker forty six.

The caravan came to a stop as the men in front pulled the camouflage out of the way before they all started up the steep trail to the outpost. The place was well hidden, but it was large. A former cultist compound that had thought to ride out the apocalypse—and they’d lasted a while. A couple of years went by before they’d been forced to venture down their mountain in search of food.

Negan’s men had caught a few of them fairly easily, and now the compound was his.

He got out of the truck with his usual swagger and the Saviors who were stationed there took the knee at the sight of him. Lucille swung up to rest on his shoulder as he walked forward. The telltale lack of sound behind him had him turning back to the vehicle, however.

The boy still sat inside and his lips twisted dangerously. “Carl, get your ass out here, boy!” he called and the kid hesitated only a second before getting out and walking cautiously towards him.

He stopped an arm’s distance away, but Negan wasn’t about to let him slip by unpunished. He hauled the kid close to him, and draped his arm loosely around his shoulders. Carl was looking off to the side and away from him. Negan felt a muscle in his face twitch as he was suddenly reminded far too much of his wives, and their occasionally less than receptive behavior. He sucked on his teeth for a second before letting out a derisive snort. His fingers dug into Carl’s pale skin harshly but the kid didn’t even flinch.

Negan looked away from his ward and back out towards his men. Few of them dared to watch the spectacle of their leader and a mutilated teenage boy. The ones that did, couldn’t seem to tear their eyes away from the gaping hole in Carl’s face. They probably thought Negan had done it.

He allowed a toothy careless smile to slide across his face as he leaned in close to Carl’s overly long hair. “If you make me look bad today, Carl,” he whispered, “I’ll switch you out for your sister.”

The boy tensed beside him. It wasn’t a threat that Negan particularly enjoyed making . . . especially because he had no intentions of following through, however he needed Carl to believe that there were consequences that even  _ he _ couldn’t live with.

“Do we understand each other?” Negan asked, his voice soft, almost gentle.

Carl turned back to look up and meet his gaze with that one clear blue eye. “I understand,” he said and Negan felt the lassitude return to his form. The Savior loosened his own grip, though he was sure there would be bruises later.

“Good, good,” he said turning back to the crowd. “As you were.”

They all stood up and he gave Carl one last meaningful look before releasing him. The boy wasn’t looking at him anymore, but that was alright. It was the part that Carl had chose the play for now. Negan was interested to see how long the kid could keep it up.

He looked away from Carl and out towards the others. Connor, was already looking over the supply lists, trailed by Simon as the Second continued to eye the younger Savior. Connor was never gonna give Simon even a second more of his time than he had to, but even after a almost two years, Simon still hadn’t figured that out.

One of these days, maybe he’d take the hint, but that was none of Negan’s business. “What do we got?” he asked, walking up to the house manager.

Conner launched into explanations, numbers and amounts, checking through his lists and pointing out the more important items. Boy had a head for numbers and while Conner was technically on a contract with the Sanctuary, Negan wasn’t sure he’d ever let the blonde young man leave. 

Carl was looking around, and Negan made a vague gesture allowing him to wander away. The kid didn’t need anything more over than that, and he walked over to the carts, taking in the goings on. His eyes were carefully calculating the product that was being revealed one load at a time. 

Negan hadn’t actually needed to come here, but he liked to keep his men on their toes by showing up occasionally. He could have taken the day off, but he’d really needed to get Carl out of that Goddamn bedroom. This pitiful act he was putting on was entertaining, but he wasn’t going to allow the kid to wallow in the memories of his family. No, Carl needed stimulation, needed a reason to think—to move—to do something. 

Even now, though, Carl kept his head down and his hair in his face and no one around here batted an eye at him. Negan mentally snorted. You’d think these shitheads would have figured out that he didn’t pay this kind of attention to useless people—that he only invested his time into projects that had long-term potential. But no, none of them gave Carl more than a cursory glance, perhaps morbidly curious about the random kid with the fucked up face than what or who he was.

Negan turned back to Connor as the manager was finishing up his report. “Go with the shipment of grain to Sterling,” Negan said, and the other man didn’t even flinch anymore when his home colony was mentioned. 

Sterling County had the only working animal farm for a hundred miles or more. They needed a constant influx of grain from the colonies in the south to keep the animals fed . . . especially with winter coming. 

Simon spoke up suddenly. “I’ll go with him,” he said. “I’ll run that pick-up.”

Connor said nothing, though the set of his jaw told Negan all he needed to know. “That won’t be necessary, Simon. Connor is perfectly capable of running that job.” Negan paused a second before continuing. “Besides, Connor needs to points for meds for his sister, right?”

The house manager looked up suddenly, unsure and Negan shrugged. “You run the pick-up, you get more points. That’s why you’re with us, right?”

Connor swallowed before nodding. “Yes, sir . . . Thank you.”

Negan gave him a wide grin and clapped the young man on the shoulder before walking away. Connor stumbled a bit with the force of the blow, but that was to be expected from the string-bean Sterling man.

Negan walked up behind Carl, his stride sure but quiet over the grass. The kid had wandered away, but he hadn’t gone far. He was looking at the contents of one of the carts, and it wasn’t until Negan’s shadow fell over Carl, that the kid looked at him. He’d known, of course that Negan was approaching . . . he was aware of everything that was currently going on.

Negan looked into the cart. There were the usual items such as food, but this particular cart was filled with bolts of fabric. Not clothes which were plentiful, but fabric. Not something that most groups would normally haul.

“These are going to another colony,” Negan said in explanation.

Carl was quiet for a moment, unsure. “Why?” he finally asked.

Negan reached out and ran his hand over the colorful bolts and chuckled. “There’s an old lady in one of our colonies—sweet old gal who always serves me a cup of tea in the cutest little china cups. Went a little coocoo after the fall. She thinks I’m her kid coming to visit her occasionally,” he said with a laugh.

Carl blinked up at him in confusion and Negan shrugged. “She makes the most beautiful quilts you ever saw,” he said before adding, “she also makes bang-up body armor.”

Negan pulled aside his leather jacket to reveal the layers fabric that had been carefully sandwiched in the lining. “Won’t stop a bullet, but no knives are getting through this,” he said.

The kid’s confusion had rapidly switched to disgusted horror. “You let some old lady think you’re her dead son so she can make you things?”

Negan shrugged. “Hey, would it have been better if I told her her boy was dead, probably ripped apart by corpses?” he asked.

Carl made a sound of exasperation before walking away. Negan let out a chuff of his own as the boy’s rather slender figure moved on. His hair was past his shoulders and strands of it shone like gold in the speckled sunlight.

Lori had always had hair like nightfall. Dark with a hint of red from the setting sun. Carl’s more golden tinge would have come from Rick. God he hated even the thought of the other man. Negan bit his own lip, digging his teeth in until it hurt. 

He had rules . . . but Rick needed to be watched, needed to be brought to heel. The man had cowered in front of him before, but Negan wasn’t a fool. A man with that kind of conviction—with a group of people and a son who  _ believed _ that conviction. That was a man to be watched. Just like Carl was here playing possum, Rick was surely doing the same, and Negan found himself becoming more and more interested as to how long that would last—what he would need to do to reinforce his will . . . and  _ he would have to. _ Negan was sure of it.

How Carl would factor into that, he still didn’t know

He was still watching Carl when Simon appeared by his side. “Boss, when are we putting that kid to work?”

Simon was still salty about not being able to escort Connor around, apparently. 

“He’s already working,” Negan said, his head tilting as Carl picked up a book from one of the carts and started flipping through it.

“Looks to me like he’s reading comic books,” Simon said derisively.

Indeed, the book Carl had chosen was a graphic novel of some kind. They didn’t get too many books coming though—not unless someone had spent points on a request, but Carl was avidly flipping through the pages.

Negan smiled. “He is, but look a little closer.”

Simon physically leaned over a bit more as though that was what Negan was telling him to do, and the Savior leader rolled his eyes. This was why Simon was his Second, but would never  _ really _ be in charge.

Carl was indeed thumbing through the book, but he was also using the casualness of his stance to shift ever so subtly around. No one paid him any mind—this broken boy that Negan was dragging around—not as Carl moved closer to the cart with the guns and not as he clearly counted how many people were stationed within the compound.

“I don’t know what you see in him, boss,” Simon said with a shake of his head. 

Negan chuckled. “Yeah I know.”

He approached Carl again and plucked the book from his hand. “Y the Last Man, huh?”

Carl didn’t try to take it back, he barely acknowledged Negan’s presence.

Negan eyed him wearily. “You can have whatever you want from the carts . . . within reason, of course.”

Carl shook his head. “I don’t need anything. Besides, as Simon pointed out—I haven’t earned anything.”

Negan laughed. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t really enjoy being cooped up with my wives all the time and I can’t entertain you 24 hours a day. Pick something to keep yourself occupied.”

The kid looked up at him from beneath his fringe. “Well maybe if you let me out of the house—”

“You’re out of the house now, aren’t you?” Negan asked with a raised brow.

Carl shook his head dramatically. “This isn’t what I mean, and you know it.”

His grin was all teeth. “Not a chance kid.”

“I haven’t done anything,” the kid said with a very well calculated whine. Oscar-worthy, really.

Negan looked the boy over and grinned. “You haven’t done anything . . . yet. You think I don’t see that stink eye you still shoot at me? Reminds me of that prick of a father of yours—which is funny cause I know Rick is killer. A real dyed in the wool  _ murderer, _ and he would carve that axe of his into me without hesitation.”

Carl wasn’t looking at him anymore so Negan used the book to push Carl’s chin up until that one blue eye met his gaze. “You . . . you look at me almost exactly the same. You’d kill me too, wouldn’t you Carl?”

The kid reached up and swiped the book from his grasp, and Negan allowed it with a condescending chuckle. “I’m not even sure that you’d feel bad after doing it.”

Carl flinched and Negan cocked his head to the side. “You wouldn’t, would you? You’ve killed people before and you’ve never felt any guilt.”

“They would have killed me—my family,” Carl snapped back.

_ Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. _ “Really?” he asked grinning.  _ “Every . . . single . . . person _ you’ve put a bullet into was a threat to you?”

Carl suddenly froze, and backed up a step, hitting the cart and stumbling a bit. Negan’s smile dropped at the horror there. 

“What did you do, Carl?” he asked, leaning in.

The boy wouldn’t meet his eyes and he tried to slip to the side, but Lucille was held out and the barbwire of the bat hit Carl square in the chest, stopping his movements.

“Please don’t,” Carl whispered and Negan felt his eyes narrow. Not once since Negan had taken him, had the young man ever begged—not for  _ anything. _ But he was begging now.

Negan stepped closer, using Lucille to bring the boy back towards him and the Savior’s breath feathered over the wisps of Carl’s hair. “I won’t make you tell me now. But you’re going to . . . eventually.”

The kid swallowed and his breathing was uneven as the bat was finally dropped and he was allowed to pass. Negan watched him walk back over the truck—watched as the boy got back in the cab and put his head in his hands.

_ You did something, Carl, _ he thought.  _ You killed someone and you’re ashamed . . . or you think you should be. _

And if it was eating him up, odds were, his sanctimonious piece of shit father was the reason that he felt that way. Negan smiled. The kid wasn’t comfortable enough to tell him about what happened yet, but he would be. Eventually. Negan would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I mentioned this last chapter, but for reals, it's the comments and kudos that you guys leave that keep me working on this. I have other fics and school that take up most of my time, and this fic, sadly is kind of at the bottom of the pecking order. 
> 
> So if I haven't updated this fic in like a month, leave a quick comment reminding me of your interest and that usually kicks me back into gear. Sad but true.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys like OCs. I love OCs, personally because they're really great for fleshing out a world further than what main characters can sometimes allow in fanfiction. This fic, for example takes place entirely from Negan's POV and predominantly in the Sanctuary. We don't really have a whole lot of information about what goes on there outside of what is directly seen by the main characters in canon.
> 
> Characters like Simon and Connor are canon, but I'm doing my own thing with them to give them more dimension as people with thoughts, feelings, and motivations. This fic takes place over the course of a couple of years so there needs to be other things going on besides Negan creeping on a seventeen-year-old, ya know? Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this chapter. :)


	5. Chapter 5

A week later, Negan still hadn’t made any concrete decision about Carl, but he’d had the kid shadow him everywhere, carrying Lucille for him. Well everywhere inside the compound. When he had to go on a pick-up, Carl was left in the tender care of his wives and he always returned to find the boy engaged in a card or board game with a few of them.

They’d given the kid a bit of trim to try and tame the wild mane that Carl insisted on sporting, but not more than an inch was shorn from his head. He hadn’t worn the eyepatch again after their conversation, but his hair was constantly down in front of his face so it wasn’t much better.

Amber, despite her protests of love towards Negan, had gone back to Mark even with his scarred up face. He was happy to be rid of the girl finally, though she seemed less than thrilled to have to work again. 

His men eyed him whenever he stepped out with Carl—they eyed the boy who had seemingly replaced Amber. Negan was well known to not be picky about his lovers, but he’d never installed another man in his home and never anyone so young.

Negan didn’t respond to the rumors. People would think what they were going to think, but he wasn’t about to start fucking sixteen-year-olds—end of the world or not. He had standards after all.

Besides, it was far more interesting to simply watch Carl. The kid never made an aggressive move, in fact he seemed rather meek and passive to the untrained observer. But Negan could see it in the way his eyes moved slowly around, the way he listened while looking away . . . Carl was predator, more so than his father was, and in a few years he would be far more lethal. Rick Grimes wasn’t good at faking his emotions and that made him easy to read and easy to predict. Carl, however had grown up in a world where it was kill or be killed and he’d obviously developed the skills needed to survive in whatever way he needed.

Simon liked to take cracks at the boy on occasion and Negan allowed it. He liked to see the micro-reactions that came with a man struggling not to give himself away.

“I know you don’t want to put him on the fences, Negan,” he’d say. “Kid wouldn’t last the day, but at least feed him scraps. He don’t work—he don’t earn, he doesn’t deserve the food his people give us.”

Carl never reacted to the baiting, not the way Simon would expect someone to react. But Negan grinned down at the knuckles that turned white as they grasped Lucille—smiled even more widely when they eased within seconds and the boy merely blinked indifferently at Simon.

His second chuffed and ignored Carl after that, content to slot the kid under non-threat and move on. Negan though . . . Negan knew it was only a matter of time before the eruption occurred. He only hoped he was around to see it, and perhaps make sure Carl didn’t get himself killed in the process.

He smiled at the boy as he finished loading his van up. Carl glared at him from beneath his fringe, but Holly quickly pulled the kid away and back inside. She seemed to have become fond of the boy, but then she’d always been the most ‘motherly’ of his wives. He resolutely didn’t think about the fact that he’d never been able to give her a child to replace the two she’d had before the end.

Negan swallowed and was about to turn away when he caught Sherry’s eyes. She gave him that look that said she needed to talk before walking back inside. He slid a side eye and a leering look to Simon before following her. She was leaning against the wall in a dark unused hallway and he came to a stop before her. She was as sexy as always, even if she was wearing jeans instead of the short dresses he liked.

Negan leaned in slightly, smiling. “What do you need, Sherry?”

“Why is that kid in the third floor room?” she asked, her arms crossing in front of her.

He felt his brow rise up. Maybe Sherry was finally growing that backbone. “Why,” he asked.

She blinked in what she probably thought was an indifferent fashion. “People are talking. Everyone thinks you’re screwing him,” she said flatly.

Negan felt his lips turn up crookedly. “And?” Perhaps it was the way he didn’t seem to give a shit about such a rumor, but his blasé manner seemed to throw her.

“And I know you aren’t!” she snapped. “So why? That room is supposed to go to your favorite wife.”

He threw back his head and laughed which only seemed to piss her off even more. 

“Oh ho, feeling a little jealous?” he asked.

She shot him a withering look. “You know that’s not it.”

He snorted before pushing her into the wall, his dick getting hard as he grinded against her. She didn’t struggle, but she didn’t reciprocate much either. It was one of the reasons that she wasn’t his favorite. She was pretty and willing but she never participated and was never fully there with him—fucking a doll wasn’t sexy.

“Carl is going to be with us for a while,” he breathed into her her ear as his hand unbuttoned her jeans and eased inside. She wasn’t wet—not yet anyway, but he continued working her flesh until she let out a tiny gasp and he smiled into her hair.

“Are you waiting for him to grow up or something?” she asked, a hitch in her voice.

He laughed. “No, he’s already a man—in this world anyway. He puts on a good show in front of you girls—in front of everyone here. He plays at being young, meek, and untried, but I know. I know that the second any of our backs are turned, he’ll put a knife in us.”

Her fingers had come up to dig into the leather of his jacket. “Then why are you keeping him so close? He could slit your throat in the middle of the night.”

His fingers pinched the sensitive part of her. “I keep him close to make it harder for him to do so. He could kill me but then what would he do? He’s on the third floor of a building that is surrounded by my men in the middle of my compound.”

Negan slid a finger inside her as he licked her ear and her breath was shuddering. She wet  _ now. _ “I know what you’re really worried about—what you’re afraid of losing,” he said, moving his fingers back and forth as her hand came up to clutch at his arm. “With Amber gone, you’re back to being queen of the roost, aren’t you. I know you like being able to order everyone around—put the other girls in their place when they piss you off.”

“Negan—” she began but he cut her off.

“Don’t worry. He ain’t no wife, but I think you already know why I’m keeping him.”

She froze against him, her head moving from his shoulder to look up at him. There was a sadness there. 

“It’s not our fault—” she began, her voice soft and slightly pleading.

“You think I don’t know that?” he said sharply, cutting her off. “You think I don’t know why I have  _ four _ wives and  _ no _ children? I can do the goddamn math.”

She swallowed, “Choose someone from Sanctuary. Not an outsider.”

Negan snorted. “He won’t be an outsider for long. He was made for this world. He just needs to see that too.”

He removed his hand from her pants and brought the soaking finger up to his mouth and stuck it in. He licked all the way down to the knuckle before smiling and kissing her. She moaned into his mouth and he gently bit her lip as he pulled away.

“We’ll finish this when I get back,” he said before releasing her and walking away.

Simon shot him a look as he called for the caravan to leave, and Negan allowed a hollow smile to cross his features. He looked back at the building, up to the third floor window and met Carl’s eye. The young man watched him, but from this distance, Negan could gauge nothing of his expression. Still, his ward never looked away.

He knew where Negan was off to.

The Savior broke eye contact first as he got into his van. Alexandria awaited them. 

As the train of vehicles pulled out of the compound and they began their journey, Negan was grateful that Simon had elected to drive his own truck. The silence of the ride was just what Negan needed to think. 

He was about to kick the hornet’s nest and see what flew out. It wasn’t fear that Negan felt, but the anticipation. The air was mild and the sky aglow with blue and gold and the wispy swirl of clouds. 

As they pulled up to the Alexandria colony, Negan took in a deep breath, listening to the birds chirping and the wind rustling the trees. He hopped down from the seat and held Lucille over his shoulder as he took in the great walls of Alexandria. He’d seen photos and heard about them, of course. He’d been well aware of this little colony for some time, but these walls had always been the sticking point for invasion.

Profit and loss just didn’t add up when it came to a full frontal assault. He could blow them up, of course, but then that would defeat the purpose of keeping a colony safe so they could continue to earn. No, he’d needed to wait until they would open the gates for him. Leverage was far more fun to use than brute strength.

The walls were a thing of beauty and quite the feat of engineering considering the times they were living in. He turned back to his men and flicked his finger towards Carson. The other Savior was quickly out of his truck and by Negan’s side.

“I want you to take a couple guys and look over these walls. I want to know how these dipshits got them up, what they used, and how long it would take us to do the same,” he said.

Carson nodded and signaled a few others to follow him and he disappeared into the brush. The fences around Sanctuary were fine for corpses, but it wasn’t the dead that threatened his position . . . no, it was upstart pricks like the Hilltop colony and now Rick. They would be the ones that came for him someday.

He smiled, walking up to gate, taking in the iron bars and the netting that obscured the compound beyond from his sight. No doubt the Alexandrians were already well aware of his presence, but they hadn’t come to greet him yet. Now that was just discourteous, but maybe he needed to knock first. 

“Little pig, little pig, let me  _ in!”  _ he called.

The gate rattled as he hit it with Lucille and heard the shuffling of people inside. Fear did things sometimes—made a man unsure and antsy. Negan sucked his teeth and was about to say something else when he heard someone approach and pull the inner fence aside. The bars remained between Negan and the young man—not that that would save him if the Savior decided to get nasty. 

There was a tinge of confusion on the Alexandrian’s face as he looked over Negan and his trucks. He didn’t seem nearly as . . . impressed as he should have and Negan smiled as he added, “Well?”

The scruffy man blinked vacantly. “Um, who are you?”

_ Now, that’s just downright rude, _ Negan thought, his smile widening. “Oh, you better be jokin',” he said with a tilt of his head. “I’m Negan and this here is Lucille. I know I had to make a pretty strong first impression.”

Judging by the lack of response, either this one was dim, uninformed, or . . . he didn’t care. The Alexandrian merely looked at him blankly and Negan wondered which one it was.

He backburned that thought as Rick walked up to the gate. “Well, hello there,” he said, showing his teeth the closer Rick got. Carl’s father wasn’t nearly as good at hiding his feelings as his son—or perhaps he didn’t care to. That same stink eye was watching him through the bars and Negan felt his smile begin to drop as Rick made no move to open the gate.

“Do not make me have to ask,” Negan said, watching him carefully.

Rick swallowed but dutifully unlocked the gate, “You said a week,” he grumbled, not meeting Negan’s eye. “You're early.”

The gate creaked and groaned as it was pulled open and Negan’s smile split his face once more. “I missed you.”

He missed putting this big fish back in the small pond. Rick the prick might have been cowed but he wasn’t broken, that much Negan could tell—not like that headman over on Hilltop who cowered at the very sight of him. Gregory had been an easy one to . . . work with. 

He was about to move forward once more when the tell-tale groaning and growling of a corpse interrupted him. He sighed, looking back at the shambling thing as it walked towards him through the caravan of trucks and SUVs. 

_ Christ, they just got uglier as time went on, _ he thought. 

Negan shrugged before turning back to look at Rick. “Oh, Rick, come on out here. Watch this,” he said walking towards the corpse, swinging Lucille lazily. “Calling it!”

It went down in a single blow, falling and groaning as it hit the pavement. This one thankfully was dried out enough that it didn’t spray its head juice. “Ha ha ha! Easy peasy lemon squeezy!” he said loudly before motioning to the other Savior. “All right, everybody. Let's get started. Big day!”

The others drove past him, making their way inside and leaving him with the Alexandrian leader and a few of his cohorts—including the dim one. “Hey, Rick, you see that, what I just did? That is some service! I mean, we almost get turned away at the gate,” he said looking around, his eyes finding the young man whose very presence was an irritation. "Who is that guy, anyway?"

Predictably none of them answered and he rolled his eyes. “Do I get mad? Do I throw a fit? Do I bash your doorman’s head in? Nope. I just take care of one of these dead pricks that could've killed one of y'all. Service,” he said with a smile before holding out Lucille to Rick. “Hold this.”

The Alexandrian took the bat reluctantly, his face twisting in disgust. Rick really needed to learn to hide his emotions better—or maybe care enough to put forth the effort. The Savior leader walked past him and into the compound. 

It really was beautiful; green trees, pristine roads, and perfectly spaced suburban mcmansions. Inside the walls, it was as if the apocalypse had never happened. Men and women, even a few kids wandered about, watching him and his men fearfully.

Negan let out a laugh. “Damn! This place is magnificent! An embarrassment of riches, as they say. Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up.”

Rick was behind him every step of the way, quiet for a few minutes before finally speaking up. “My son . . .”

Negan turned around. “Carl’s fine. I swear. He’s livin’ it up with all my wives. Way more eye-candy at my place—not like all the carpet munchers you got runnin’ around here.”

Rick’s jaw tightened, “When can we see him again?”

“Now that, Rick . . . is for me to decide. See, I like Carl—like his rad as hell gouged out eye, I like those man-sized balls he’s carrying around when he takes no shit from anyone . . . not like you—you’re gonna give me everything I want, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, and Rick knew it. He looked away and Negan couldn't help his grin. Breaking Rick would be such a joy, one he would savor.

“We put aside half the supplies,” Rick said lowly, gesturing vaguely down one of the side roads that lead away from the houses and the population.

Well that just wouldn’t do. Rick apparently hadn’t figured out that that was not how things were working around here. Every inch of this place would be inspected, touched and  _ owned _ by Negan.

He shook his head patiently. “No, Rick. No,” he said, watching as a bit more of the man’s nerves began to fray. “You don't decide what we take. I do. Arat?” 

Arat came up beside him and he nodded towards her. She smiled, clearly enjoying herself before calling out, “You heard the man. Move out!”

Negan turned back to Rick. “They're just gonna search the houses a bit, keep the process movin'.”

The Savior leader looked around. The houses were all identical, except for vague additions and porches. “You gonna show me around or not?”

Rick nodded tiredly, walking forward and passing Negan as he headed towards the houses.

“Which one is yours?” he asked, watching as his men went house to house, carrying furniture and and boxes of supplies out.

Rick froze, his steps faltering for only a fraction of a second. “What?”

“I want to see your house, Rick.”

He could tell that Rick wanted to say ‘no’, to ask why, to yell, scream, attack, and beg. He was smart enough that he didn’t do any of those things. He just nodded and continued on down the road, not looking or acknowledging the other Alexandrians as they looked to him for guidance as their lives were literally being ripped from them and carried off.

They entered the home, a few of his men hastily leaving the place when he came in sight. He eyed the photos on the walls, the nice furniture in the vast living and dining rooms . . . the fine layer of dust that covered it all.

“You sure this is your place, Rick? These folks don’t look like you and Carl,” he said motioning towards the framed pictures on the walls.

Rick swallowed before replying.“There was a family that lived here before we got here. We never had the heart to take down their stuff,” he said, lying so badly that Negan resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

The Savior paused, watching the other man intently—not a physical weakness per se, but Rick was a terrible liar. Perhaps the man rarely had cause to do so—being badass enough that there was little point in lying to anyone.

Negan wondered how long it would be until Rick got better at it. “Is that right?” he asked with a snort of amusement, before heading towards the stairs. Rick followed closely as Negan took in the master bedroom, bland and boring, but then there were two other rooms . . . two boys had lived here.

His eyes moved over the first bedroom, no doubt belonging to a younger son. There were toys and games, a reminder of a time when children could be innocent. He shut that door behind him as he left.

The other . . . well the other solidified that this home was not where Carl lived. It was the bedroom of a boy who didn’t know hardship. Carl barely even showered at Sanctuary, his only focus on his next meal and survival.

The boy who’d lived in this room, he was obsessed with listening to and playing music—something Carl would never do. He would never leave himself vulnerable like that. There was crap strewn about, comics, clothes, books, and bits of old technology. That was another thing Carl would never do. If he was needed in the dark of night, he wouldn't risk tripping himself up during an attack.

No . . . this was definitely not Carl’s bedroom.

Rick had taken him here to hide something from him—something he was hiding in his real home.

“Negan!” a voice called from downstairs.

Rick met his eyes as he walked by but said nothing as they descended back down the the first floor. 

One of his men, Liam stood there in the open doorway of the house and he gestured outside. “Somethin' you might wanna see.” 

Negan kept his pace sedate and casual as Liam lead the way down the sidewalk to the house two doors down. As he entered this new home, he immediately caught on to why he’d been brought to this particular house. There, framed up and sitting on the entryway table was a small polaroid picture . . . of Carl and a baby.

His eyes narrowed and he looked towards Simon. “This what I think it is?” he asked.

Simon pointed up stairs and Negan gave Rick a long look, taking in the vague way the man trembled and the sweat that had started beading along his brow. He made his way up, ascending the stairs in a steady fashion, aware that Rick was once again behind him. The door beside the stairwell was partially open and sunbeams glinted through the opening.

“Well, well, well. What am I gonna find in here?” he asked aloud, though no answer was forthcoming.

He pushed the door open and nearly took a step back. 

There was a white crib set against the far wall in front of the window and sunlight streamed down onto the golden blonde hair of a baby girl. She stood up, her chubby little hands gripping the railing as she looking at him.

Negan walked forward. “And who, may I ask, is this little angel?”

He picked her up, conscious of the way Rick’s breath was shuddering in fear. The little girl touched his face and tried to stick her fingers in his mouth as he laughed.

“She—she’s mine!” a voice called.

A woman stepped forward, overweight with glasses, and pale skin and dark hair. Rick looked at her in fright. “Olivia, go back downstairs!”

“Quiet, Rick,” Negan said quickly, bouncing his body slightly to entertain the baby while holding onto one of her tiny hands. “So this here is  _ your _ daughter?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said with far more conviction that he’d have credited her for.

Negan pursed his lips. “Well then, you wanna explain why you got a picture of Carl downstairs?”

She squared her shoulders. “Carl stays with me when Rick is gone. He’s here all the time . . . he even has a room here.”

Negan nodded as if he understood. He approached the woman, somehow impressed that she stood her ground. Many others would have fallen to their knees by now.

“Olivia was it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Negan threw his head back and laughed into the silence before answering. “See I know you’re lyin’ to me. I already knew before you opened your mouth. I know this kid ain’t yours just like I know that Rick here was tryin’ real hard to hide her from me,” he said, his eyes moving back to Rick. “Though, why that is, I just can’t imagine.”

Rick’s eyes were filled with fear and Olivia seemed to shatter in on herself. 

He looked away from the pair of them, making faces at the baby and smiling as she laughed. “Now see, I don’t normally tolerate lyin’ and all that—it’s not good business, you understand,” he began, still only looking towards the child. “But . . . I’m willing to overlook this little slap in my face on account of the baby involved.”

Nagan looked away from the little girl and and back towards them. The woman seemed ready to vomit and Rick seemed to be lacking any emotion other than terror. He felt a smile split his face.

“Now what do ya’ll say?”

“Th-Thank you, Negan,” Rick said and Olivia echoed him faintly.

“Shee-it, no need to act like I’m gonna bust a few skulls,” he said, before turning back and returning the child to her crib. She really was just the cutest thing.

He faced the pair of Alexandrians again, moving slowly towards them. Olivia flinched as he neared and he couldn't help swinging an arm around her shoulder. Her body was larger—fleshier than any of the women in his compound and it was strange because he’d never thought of pursuing such a . . . plush woman, but the idea appealed to him more as he looked her over.

She trembled at his attention and he chuckled before leaning in. “I only do that when I have to.”

Neither of them said anything—couple of buzzkills, the pair of them.

“Now, pretty lady, why don’t you show me to Carl’s room?”

For the first time since he’d seen her, she balked, her head moving back as she blinked at him. She didn’t move, didn’t say anything and he was about to force her to get a move on when she looked toward Rick. Their eyes met and he saw the Alexandrian leader give her a short nod of acceptance.

They’d need to work on that.

She extricated herself from under his arm, and he bit his tongue as he watched her ass jiggle a bit as she walked. Negan couldn't help pursing his lips. Women these days were all skin and bones. One with a little extra junk in the trunk was a rare sight. She stopped outside a closed door down the hall and pushed it open. He gave her a rather leering once-over that she ignored before stepping inside. 

Now this . . .  _ this _ was Carl’s bedroom. Minimal and kept straight. A plank of wood rested on the wall beside the door and he instantly knew it for what it was—poor man’s lock to keep the dead out . . . or anyone else. For a while at least. He’d used a similar technique back in the beginning when he’d been moving from hovel to hovel trying to survive. 

The window was cracked open a few inches, not for air circulation but to hear anything that might be happening outside. There was a shelf off to the side with books and knick-knacks. Well . . . the type of knick-knacks a boy like Carl would have. He picked up the aluminum metal cone from the shelf, tilting his head as he examined it and it took him a minute to identify exactly what the item was.

A silencer made from a sawed-off aluminum baseball bat.

Negan let out a low whistle as he raised a brow, impressed. He looked up to see Olivia and Rick still standing in the doorway. He eyed the woman and made a motion for her to approach him. She swallowed, again looking at Rick before making her way over.

“Shut the door, Olivia,” he said.

Her breath was a trembling thing as she slowly closed the room off, blocking out Rick and anyone else who could help her. Negan set the silencer back down before approaching her. She stepped back, but he only made his way to Carl’s old bed. It was a twin and Olivia wasn’t exactly a light-weight but it would do. 

He turned on his heel and looked back at her. “I got some time to kill, so I think it would be enjoyable to screw your brains out.”

All at once, the terror melted from her face, and he was actually rather surprised that he didn’t see the slap coming. 

It didn’t hurt, he was more amused than anything else, so much so that he leaned back in towards her and whispered. “I’m about fifty percent more into you now.”

When she continued to glare at him, he rolled his eyes and backed away.

“Well then I guess we’ll have to talk, you and I,” he began, shrugging indifferently. “See, it seems like you—and by extension your whole little group—don’t really get what’s going on. Now, the easiest thing to do would be to line you all up and brain one of you for the benefit of the others.”

She gasped rather dramatically and he could see tears in her eyes, but he tapped on her lips, stopping her from saying anything.

“Shhh, Shush now, Olivia. See, I don’t enjoy hurting people . . .” He paused a moment, “Well, maybe sometimes I do, but killin’  _ everyone _ who pisses me off isn’t a sustainable venture—I know, I tried it already. See you’re in luck because I  _ already _ figured that out or else that bit where you didn’t immediately obey my orders . . . well that wouldn’t have ended so nice for you.” The tears in her eyes began to fall and he sighed, annoyed with her, “Then I’d have to explain your busted out skull to Carl, and then he’d be sulking for  _ days, _ and I just, ya know, don’t want to deal with that.”

He leaned in, watching the way the muscles under her skin flinch as she tried to keep a certain amount of distance between them.

“See, I know you’re the babysitter—you take care of that little girl when Rick isn’t around, and these days, he’s not around quite a bit, isn’t he.” She nodded hesitantly which he echoed with a satisfied purse of his lips before continuing. “Yeah, he’s out there sacrificing and earning and you’re taking care of his kid.”

Negan paused, licking his lips as he continued to watch her. “I want to offer you something Olivia—make everything a little easier on you. We’ll go light on your house, leave your mattress, break a few less things, and I just need you to do one thing for me.”

“I know Rick and his little gang of piss-ants aren't gonna advertise their plans to you. I get that. You aren’t high enough on the totem pole for them to take you or any of you other softies seriously.”

“Then what do you want?”

His brows rose.“Nothing from you, darling—it’s the rest of them that I want to know about . . . See, if someone around here decides that they want to mess with the way things are. I’m gonna have to kill’em—I got a no exceptions rule on that one. I’ll also need to get rid of anyone who was supporting ‘em.” He paused, meeting her eyes. “Which could be a fuckload of people—your people.”

Negan could see the wheels turning in her head. She wasn’t an idiot. He’d known that when he’d started talking to her. His sources had said she was the accountant of the compound, tracking and rationing everything that came in and out of Alexandria.

“You want me to snitch on my own people?” she asked, her brow furrowed in anger.

Negan kept his voice carefully flat.“I want you to  _ protect _ your people. If I know about it soon enough, I just kill the one person and that’s that. I can do it privately, maybe, keep the peace with you nice folks, but if I have a full-on revolt . . . well, then I can’t have Alexandria giving any of my other colonies ideas.”

She looked at him for a long time, silent, thinking, before nodding shallowly.

He smiled, clapping her on the shoulder. “Now, you see this? This is the kind of thing that just tickles my balls. A little cooperation and everything is pleasant as punch. You see, I really am a reasonable person once you get to know me.”

Olivia didn’t seem amused so he shrugged and moved on, casting one more look around the bedroom, taking in the boy’s interests. He didn’t take anything away, though. Carl didn’t need anything reminding him of this place. Everything the kid needed from now on, he’d provide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone posted a comment asking about a chapter a couple of days ago so . . . here is a chapter. lol. I was sitting in class(it hadn't started yet), but that notification made me pull up the doc and I looked over the chapter, did some editing and now I'm posting it. I feel bad that there is so much time between updates, but TBH, I have another fic account where I post my more mainstream fare and I'm usually working on those fics instead.
> 
> I know I've said it before, but for real, ya'll's comments are what reminds me to work on this story. I have the outline done and the end mapped out, but fleshing it out takes quite a bit of time so I work on it in chunks whenever someone comments and reminds me about it. I know that's weird, but that's reality for me.
> 
> This chapter was a bit slower, but I promise there will be some quality Carl/Negan interaction in the next chapter. Thank you so much to those of you who are enjoying the story. :)


	6. Chapter 6

The door opened and Rick was standing close to the opposite wall. The Alexandrian immediately looked past him towards Olivia.

“See you next time, doll,” he said, taking Lucille back and walking away. He didn’t really care if Rick was behind him—didn’t care if Olivia spilled the beans or if there really was a revolt brewing among these pricks. He needed Rick to know that even when Negan wasn’t around, that he was watching—that there would always be someone there willing to tell him all about what was going bump in the night at Alexandria.

He saw Arat moving men and furniture around, loading up the trucks and headed her way. She looked up when she saw him, her face moderately satisfied which was a large step up for the usually stone-cold woman.

He gestured behind him with his thumb. “Find out which house the fat lady lives in and make sure we leave her bed,” he said.

Arat nodded absently. “Yes, sir.” Negan went to walk away but she spoke up, “One thing, sir.”

He turned back, “What is it?”

“Wanted to get your approval to clean these motherfuckers out of their guns,” she said.

His brows flew up. “Almost forgot about that. Thanks, Arat,” he said, and she nodded before leading him to the armoury.

And what an armory it was. A low whistle escaped him as he examined the cache of weapons. “Da-amn,” he said chuckling as he picked up a rifle and looked it over.

“Got some nice shit in here, don’t they,” he said, his eyes moving over the room.

“Yes, they do,” Arat murmured as Rick finally caught up with them.

“We need our guns if we’re gonna go out scavenging for you,” he said quickly.

Negan laughed, “I’m pretty sure you’re lethal even with just your hands, Rick,” he said before turning away and walking further into the space.

“But I’m a reasonable man,” he began, running a hand over the ammo boxes. “I got plenty of guns—even without the ones you stole from me after killing my people. What I always need, though, is ammo.”

He stopped and turned back to Arat. “Forget the guns. Leave ‘em a couple ammo boxes and take the rest.”

She nodded, moving in and gathering the meager supply.

Rick looked ready to say something but he wisely held his tongue and Negan smiled. “Now I just want to point out to you that I'm not taking a scrap of your food. It’s slim pickin’s out there and I can’t have you starving to death, ‘cause then I don't get shit. So for now, you get to keep all the food. How 'bout that?”

Rick watched Arat like a hawk, no doubt mentally tallying the rounds left over, maybe even strategizing how to take Negan and all his men out with the few bullets left to him.

“What do you want me to say?” Rick asked, his voice low with stress and agitation.

Negan felt his smile slip the tiniest bit. “I don't know, Rick. How about a thank you? You think that might be in order? Or is that too much to ask?” he asked. Maybe Alexandria wasn’t worth the irritation.

But then Carl would probably . . . well that didn’t bear thinking. 

He turned to Arat. “Got everything?”

“Everything worth getting,” she said.

Negan nodded. “Let's move out!” he called before looking back at Rick. “Your boy’s waiting for me—can’t leave that one alone for too long, ya know?”

He smiled again as Rick glared at him. Negan couldn’t contain his laugh as he turned and walked back to the truck. The haul was good and his people would be well stocked in the coming months. 

Still, as the caravan of vehicles pulled out of the compound and headed home, his mind was churning with what he’d seen inside Alexandria—specifically what he hadn’t seen.

Food.

The Alexandrians were on the verge of starvation, and they weren’t the only colony in that situation. The only one that was doing well in that department was the Hilltop and Sterling. Those two colonies had all their people constantly tending to crops and animals rather than scavenging.

As much as Negan liked to play up the idea to Carl that he was open to redistribution to other colonies, in reality, he rarely did so. But with winters becoming harsher every year, he would need to consider some kind of redistribution of people and resources in order to keep his own flow of products. He’d speak to Dwight and Connor when he returned about moving resources around to keep productivity up.

He continued on this train of thought until they returned to Sanctuary, but his intentions were diverted as he noticed something. There wasn’t the usual crowd of people there awaiting them and as he got out of his van, he quickly found out why.

Simon was hauling ass through the gates, his breathing harsh, “Trouble, boss,” he gasped out.

“What the fuck kind of trouble?” he asked, his voice level and calm despite the buzzing sense of violence and fear in the air.

“The kid . . .”

That was really all Simon had to say to get Negan moving. He left the courtyard, walking quickly to the central building—feeling the eyes of his men on him as he went. 

_ That kid better not have gotten himself killed, _ he thought.

No . . . no one here would be stupid enough to kill Carl without Negan’s permission. He climbed up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, and the crowd of people on his landing parted for him the second they noticed. 

Many fell to their knees while others kept their weapons trained on . . . on Carl. The boy was surrounded, but his gun was steady in his hand as he glared at Negan and the other Saviors.

“What in the hell are you doing, boy?” he barked out. 

Carl’s jaw dropped open at the sight of him.  _ How long had they all been in this stalemate, _ he wondered. Negan hadn’t been gone  _ that _ long. The kid must have made his move almost as soon as Negan had left. 

His eyes slid around, finding the small crowd of peeking eyes. His wives watched from another room, their faces shocked and alarmed . . . all but one. Sherry met his gaze and seemed to realize she’d been caught staring. She backed up a step before turning and walking away.

He was less than surprised, but she clearly didn’t know much about Carl. The kid was smart enough to realize that killing his enemies haphazardly while surrounded was a one-way ticket to the end of the line, and the Saviors wouldn’t shoot and risk killing Negan’s ward. In the end, it was a stand-off—one Negan needed to end and ensure it never happened again.

His men were antsy, shifting their weight from side to side in the silence as they waited for his order, ready— _ eager _ —to converge on the boy and tear him apart. A couple of them would fall to the kid’s bullets, but there was no winning for his young ward.

Carl seemed to sense this as he finally answered. “Getting out of here—Going Home!” he yelled, his voice far from steady.

Negan allowed a slow smile to pull on his lip, teeth peeking out. “Now, see, I know that’s what you’re hoping, but there’s a flaw in your plan . . .” he began, walking, not towards Carl, but around the crowd, keeping the kid off balance. “This  _ is _ your home.”

Carl shook his head. “No. Alexandria is where I belong.”

_ Hardly  _ . . . Negan thought. Stone cold killers like Carl belonged at the head of the pack—killing and fighting for dominion in a world gone mad—not living in that kiddie-friendly fantasy world.

“Kid, you belong where I say you belong,” he said nostrils flaring slightly. “None of your people—not your daddy, not that nubian queen he’s bangin’, not  _ anyone _ fought us when we left. They were happy to see the backs of our trucks cause that meant their ordeal was over—for now.”

Negan was gratified that Carl’s hands didn’t shake even as he yelled out, “That’s not true!”

The Savior leader laughed. “Boy, it sure as shit is. I plucked you out of that group like a farmer pickin’ strawberries.” And the sooner Carl accepted that, the safer he’d be.

Carl was quiet for a few seconds before his expression flattened and his eyes got that  _ glint _ in them as he raised the gun a little higher. Negan knew that look—he’d seen it in so many people . . . the look of someone who had pulled the trigger before. 

“I could always kill  _ you,” _ Carl said softly. “Then you wouldn’t say anything ever again.”

Negan smiled.  _ The little punk meant it. _ He’d need to tread carefully now or no amount of talking was going to allow either of them to survive this. 

“I suppose you could. You could shoot me right now . . . how many bullets you got left?” He turned to Dwight. “How many?” he asked.

Dwight was brought up short for a second, clearly unprepared to even be spoken to, but he recovered quickly. “Kid got four rounds off.”

Negan turned back to Carl. “Four . . . so you got, what? Two bullets left in that gun? Best case scenario, you kill me and maybe one other guy, but that leaves the rest of these fine gentlemen. And believe you me, they ain’t lettin’ you walk out of here alive.”

“Maybe it’ll be worth it,” Carl hissed out.

Negan let out a guffaw of laughter. “Kid. I’ll give it to you. You got some man-sized balls, but you need to think this shit through. You kill me, they kill you, and then they go and kill your people. Your father . . .  _ your sister _ and everyone else who lives in those walls. Every  _ one _ of them will die. And that’s all on you. Can you live with that, Carl?” he asked before his tone deepened as all humor fled his voice and expression. “Can you  _ die _ with that?”

Carl’s brows furrowed and it was then that Negan finally did approach him. The kid’s gaze had fallen to the floor by the time the savior reached him. His hand wrapped around the barrel of the weapon and the young man’s fingers were limp as they allowed the weapon to be taken. He held it away and Simon immediately took the gun. The boy hung there for a few seconds, and Negan couldn’t stop himself from pulling Carl to him. The kid didn’t fight as he wrapped an arm around Carl’s thin shoulders and kissed the crown of his head.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Think a little and we’ll all survive this,” he whispered.

The kid didn’t respond and Negan pulled Carl with him as he headed back to the stairs.

“Negan, what about Meyer, Colton—”

Carl froze and Negan looked down at the kid before responding. “They got jumped by a sixteen year old. Get me some guards whose balls have dropped next time.”

There was a soft rumbling from the crowd before Negan physically turned his head and looked back at them. The noise evaporated immediately and his men all bowed their heads in deference. He nodded in satisfaction before leading the boy away.

He sat Carl down on the sofa in his bedroom, the door shutting behind them, silencing the room and leaving them alone. Negan sighed as he watched the kid. He was closed up tighter than an ancient virgin nun’s legs.

“Where did you get the gun?” he asked, coming forward and collapsing on the opposite sofa.

Carl did look up then, and Negan was unsurprised that the kid didn’t answer. He wasn’t a rat. Negan knew, of course, where it had come from. He wasn’t an idiot and Sherry was no mastermind. 

“What did she tell you, Carl? Did she promise to keep my men away while you made your escape?”

“No one helped me,” Carl said petulantly

Negan snorted. “I know it was Sherry. I even know why she did it, but you apparently don’t. Has she been buttering you up these last few weeks, talkin’ real soft and friendly to you? I saw the books in your room. That’s all her, right?” Carl was still mutinously silent so Negan continued. “Thing is, Carl. She don’t give a shit about you—or me—or even her ex-husband. The only person Sherry gives a shit about is Sherry. She’ll do what she needs to do to survive, and these days, she’ll eliminate threats to her own influence.”

“What has that got to do with me?” Carl asked.

The savior tilted his head to the side, his smile wide. “You’re a smart kid, Carl. Why would one of my wives get pissed that the person I dote on the most in this house is someone else? People in my favor . . . well there is a certain amount of power that comes with that. Everyone here is Negan, but only a select few can actually wield that kind of power.”

He could see the gears turning behind Carl’s eyes—see the understanding there that Carl had some semblance of control over his situation—far more than he should as an underage hostage. And Sherry wanted even that tiny bit for herself.

“Now Colten and Meyer . . . What am I gonna do about that?” he asked after the silence began to stretch.

Carl flinched, but not because he’d killed those two men . . . he was awaiting some kind of punishment—a dressing down about why it was wrong of him.

Negan licked his lips. “How many men have you killed?”

The kid’s jaw tightened. “Too many.”

Of that he had little doubt. “How many times did you look into their eyes as you killed them?” he asked.

Carl looked up and swallowed heavily before his eyes shifted away. “Twice.”

Not a huge number, but respectable for someone his age—especially with that father of his. “Who were they?”

The young man’s lips thinned, but he started to answer. “An enemy and . . .”

“Who else Carl?”

“My mom,” he said quietly.

“Lori?” he asked, voice shaking slightly. Now Negan felt knocked off his feet—like the air in the room has all been sucked out and he couldn’t breath. 

Carl seemed to feel like he was being judged—that he needed to explain himself. “She—She’d just given birth to Judith and she was dying. I . . . I couldn’t let her turn. She begged me to end it. I did.”

A tear made its way out of Carl’s eye and Negan got up. He came around the coffee table and pulled Carl to his feet and into his arms.

“You did what you had to do, son. You took care of her like a man.”

It was all he could manage, really. Negan thought back to bright beautiful vibrant Lori, her wide smile and long hair shining in the sunlight as she cheered on all the kids on her son’s little league team.

He’d known she was dead, in an abstract way—knew she’d probably been killed by corpses, and he’d lemented what a terrible way to go, but this . . . Carl killing his own mother was not an idea that he’d even imagined. 

He wondered then where Rick had been when this had all gone down—probably out playing hero somewhere else instead of securing his own family.

Negan pulled away slightly, looking down at Carl. His hands were on either side of the kid’s face, his fingers digging ever so slightly into his skin. 

“Never be ashamed of what you have to do, Carl. You’re only responsibility is to yourself—to survive. The world is long gone, and we’re all that’s left.”

Carl swallowed heavily. “That doesn’t mean we abandon our humanity.”

Negan shook his head. “I see you talkin’, but all I’m hearing is Rick. That shit before—it was a facade, a front. A nice story we told ourselves before we went to sleep every night. Humans—people—we’re not built to be the warm and fuzzy types. Our species is the most destructive thing to ever walk this planet, and we were so consumed by our own hubris that we didn’t even notice. You think these corpses started walking on their own? No, Carl. This shit was man-made. We destroyed ourselves. That’s the humanity you’re trying so hard to maintain.”

Carl’s eyes slid shut and there were more tears. He hated seeing the kid like this, but if he could get this weight off his shoulders now then so much the better. He was carrying a weight of guilt that wasn’t his to bear. A kid had no business being the one to off his own mother and the little girl had to be at least a year old so that would have put Carl at fifteen when he’d done it.

They stayed there like that for a while until there was a knock on the door. Negan looked down at the kid and found he’d actually fallen asleep.

Carl Grimes was asleep while leaning on his shoulder. 

It was a step in the right direction. He wondered how long a journey it would be. Negan gently shifted his ward until his head was pillowed against the arm rest and then got up. Simon and Connor stood outside his door—a rare sight. Connor usually stayed as far away from Simon as he could, but it seemed Simon had other things on his mind besides getting handsy with the house manager.

He looked back at Carl but the kid was still unmoving so she stepped outside into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He caught sight of Carl’s bedroom. The door was wide open so he saw the made bed and stack of books. They were mostly old fantasy and sci-fi, but he noticed that just like back in Alexandria that Carl had a habit. The books were stacked one on top of the other against the wall. He kept his floors completely clear. 

He sucked his teeth a bit before turning back to Simon and Connor. “What is it?”

Simon hesitated, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “Should we fire up the furnace, Negan?”

He supposed that was the logical course of action. Carl  _ had _ broken a plethora of rules, but then so had other people in the compound and that was a can of worms that he wasn’t interested in exploring.

“No,” he said at last.

Connor balked. “Sir, I know he’s your ward, but that was  _ four _ men—good workers. Are we at least going to get replacements from Alexandria?”

“Nah, those ones are still a bit too farel. We won’t get anything but trouble out of letting them in here.” He also didn’t want them anywhere near Carl.

Simon spoke up. “He’s the one that’s farel. He should be killed—-as an example to the others!”

Negan pursed his lips. “But he’d not like the others. He’s my guest, and besides, I consider this a learning experience—a teachable moment if you will,” he said drawing on long unused words from his days as a coach. “Carl now knows there is no escape and he won’t try again.”

He paused as his eyes met Simon’s. “And what did you learn about Carl today?” he asked pleasantly, recalling some of the child psychology classes from his early days.

Simon wasn’t amused. “That he’s a little psycho.”

Negan’s smile dropped. “No, what did you  _ learn?” _

His second swallowed before looking away. “Not to underestimate him,” he said quietly.

“Or anyone,” Negan corrected.

“Or anyone.” 

He nodded. “I’ve been waiting for him to make a move—-didn’t think it’d be this soon, but then I hadn’t counted on an outside force helping him out.”

“You knew he’d try something?” Simon asked incredulously.

Negan snorted. “Of course I knew. I’m not an idiot. I can see budding serial killer when one is presented to me on a silver platter.”

“Would have been nice to know that,” Simon muttered

The savior leader snorted. “I can tell you things till I’m blue in the face, Simon, but until you  _ see _ and begin to recognize when someone has the capacity and the  _ need _ to kill you, you won’t know what you’re looking at. But you do now, don’t you?”

Simon nodded quickly. “Yes, Negan.”

“Good, then this lesson was well worth the cost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still chugging away at this fic. Reviews and kudos keep me motivated. :)


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